A Spot of Tea
by paganpunk2
Summary: Alfred and Dick have a common love; tea. A series of one-shots centered around a certain butler, Boy Wonder, and beverage.
1. A Beginning

**Author's Note: Okay, so I was re-watching Avatar: The Last Airbender (the show, not Shymalan's...interesting...take on it) last night and was struck once again by how amazing Iroh is. A particular line of his from the episode in which he and Toph share a pot of tea set the muse off, and this is the result. I've been wanting to do something focusing on Dick and Alfred, and this fit the bill beautifully. Right now I'm marking the story as complete because it may just stay a one-shot; however, I may very well come back later on (probably after the holidays) and add other chapters centering around Dick, Alfred, and tea at various points in their lives.**

**A note on vocabulary: Tata = dad, Tanti = aunt (figurative aunt, in Dick's case). **

**The quote, for those of you wondering, is "Sharing tea with a fascinating stranger is one of life's true pleasures." Happy reading!**

Alfred was just pulling the kettle off of the stove when a voice broke the quiet of the kitchen.

"…Ex-excuse me? Sir?"

He turned, eyebrows raised, to find the newest resident of Wayne Manor watching him nervously from the doorway. "Master Dick," he inclined his head, allowing a small smile to slip onto his normally stoic face. _Sir?_ he thought with mild incredulousness. _This child is either incredibly polite or very, very uncertain._ "Did you need something, young sir?"

"I…" he bowed his head, blushing as he scuffed the floor with one foot. "I was wondering if I could have something to eat?" he almost whispered. _It's so awkward here,_ he thought. He had been in the house for barely twenty four hours, and already he felt more alone than he had even at that awful orphanage. _Sure, they hit me there, but at least…at least there were other people around. Even if they made fun of me, at least they were talking to me. They noticed I was there._

"Of course," the butler nodded. "What would you like? I can prepare you anything, within reason."

"Anything's fine, really. I'm not picky." He already regretted coming downstairs, but he'd only picked at the sumptuous breakfast and lunch he'd been served, and his stomach was not happy about it. _Maybe he'll offer something I can take upstairs to the room_, he hoped vaguely. Not that he particularly _wanted_ to go back to that place; it was very nice, but nothing in it was his. His few belongings couldn't even cover the bed; he'd laid them all out the night before, taking stock of what was left of his life as he had every evening since his parents' deaths, and then packed them away again in his small suitcase when he saw how poor it all looked surrounded by luxury. _I wonder how long it will be before he sends me back,_ he'd sobbed later, crying himself to sleep under too-soft sheets.

_Uncertain,_ Alfred decided, watching him. _And, perhaps, unhappy as well._ It was to be expected; the boy had just lost his parents in a tragic manner, after all. He winced internally as he remembered the story Master Wayne had related to him the night of the circus. _To have such a thing occur right before his eyes,_ he rued. _I suppose it is fortunate that I am so terribly familiar with what witnessing an event like that can do to a child. Perhaps…perhaps now I have the experience to help keep him from turning inward, from shielding himself as Master Wayne did. Maybe there is a chance to save this child the way I could not do before._ "I was just preparing to serve myself a small afternoon tea," he spoke before he realized what he was saying. "Would you care to join me?"

Dick looked up, eyes wide at the suggestion. _Tea? _There had been no hot beverages at the orphanage, only water and milk, and he had desperately missed it. To drink tea again seemed like a dream, but he didn't want to be rude. "I don't want to intrude on your private time," he demurred. "You're always so busy working, I doubt you get much of it."

"I beg your pardon?" Alfred asked, taken aback. _He's been here a single day and he has already noted my position, my duties, in this house, _he marveled. _What an astonishing little boy, to have been so observant even in the depths of grief._ "On the contrary, Master Dick," he quickly amended, seeing him take a tiny step backwards at his surprised exhalation. "I seem to have far too much time to myself. I may be constantly occupied, but it is lonely work." _Master Wayne is always at his office, or in the cave, or on patrol,_ he reflected on the honesty of his words. _Far be it from me to __mind__, per se – he is an important man in more ways than one, and has few moments for repose – but there is a terrible silence haunting this house._ He extended his arm to gesture towards the small table in one corner. "I would be very pleased if you would do me the honor of having a cup."

"…All right, sir," he nearly stuttered. "Thank you." Never quite taking his gaze off of the older man, he minced to the table almost noiselessly. "…Which chair should I take?" he asked, swallowing hard as he examined them. They were old, heavy carved seats like he'd seen in the museums and palaces his parents had taken him to tour on their European circuit, upholstered in beautifully embroidered fabric that took his breath away. _It looks like the rugs that go under the elephants' saddles,_ he remembered, stretching out one finger to trace a bird wrought in silver thread.

"Whichever you prefer," the butler told him gently, watching. _It must be overwhelming for him, to be in a place like this after living on the road for so long,_ he decided. Master Wayne had told him about the trailer the boy's family had resided in; very clean and neat, he'd reported, obviously cherished, but clearly full of secondhand or inherited goods. The entirety of the troupe had seemed that way; good, upstanding, happy folk, a tightly knit community, each member more concerned with keeping their show as bright and glittering as possible than with upgrading their personal belongings. _No wonder he's being so cautious. He may well fear that touching anything will cause it to break._ Keeping a small and, he hoped, comforting smile on his lips, he carried over a gilt tray loaded with the essentials of their repast, wishing now that he had a set of serving ware that wasn't so painfully expensive looking. "Do you like the pattern?" he asked as he took his own seat. "You seemed quite entranced with a bird just a moment ago."

"I like birds," he said slowly, looking down to where his hands, called out for touching, were curling, embarrassed, in his lap. "Mom and I used to mark off the species we saw together. She had a big book full of all different kinds of birds from around the world." He bit his lip. _I didn't mean to say that. How much more boring could I be, he doesn't want to hear about bird watching!_

"An admirable pastime," the Englishman said, pouring out two steaming cups. "An aunt of mine was an ornithologist. I took several trips to the country with her as a boy to help her find certain specimens. I remember it being a very relaxing hobby."

"…Yes, sir. It is." _Oh. He likes birding, too. Huh…_

"If you don't mind, Master Dick," Alfred addressed him seriously. "There is no need to refer to me as 'sir.' You may call me by my given name, and I daresay Master Wayne would prefer that you call him by his." He paused. _Did we even __tell__ him our names? Everything has been so hectic, with the lawyers and Social Services and the media all hounding to have their moment._ This tea was, in fact, practically the first sustenance the butler had had time to take since the boy had arrived. "…Do you recall what they are?"

"Yes. You're Alfred. Mr. Wayne's first name is Bruce."

"Very good, young sir," he breathed, more impressed by the moment. "You must pay very close attention to your surroundings. Do you take sugar?"

"Oh, um…just one?" he answered, sounding as if he couldn't remember. "You have to know what's going on around you when you're on a trapeze," he offered, watching as the perfect square fell from the tongs and dissolved. "Things can change so fast…" He swallowed heavily. "...You have to be able to adapt." It had been one of the first things he could ever remember John Grayson instructing him in, and he had taken it directly to heart. "Thank you, si-Alfred," he said, accepting his cup. Raising it to his lips, he took a tiny sip. "This is _good,_" he blurted, a pleased little grin dancing across his mouth. "Like, really good."

"Why, thank you," the butler replied. "I blend all of the teas served in this house myself. I'm very glad that you like it. I must say, this particular mixture is not one of Master Wayne's favorites."

"He's crazy," Dick said without thinking. As soon as he heard himself, he blanched. "I mean…he's not _crazy_, just…I'm sorry," he bowed his head. "I didn't mean…"

"Please, young sir," Alfred calmed him, barely containing the laugh that wanted to break out at the child's blatant honesty. "I took no offense to your statement. I'm sure you didn't mean it disdainfully."

"No! No, I…I'm really grateful…"

"I know you are." Feeling that the gesture wouldn't be wholly unappreciated, he reached across the table and gave the boy's hand a kind pat. "No harm done. I think he's a bit crazy to not like it, myself," he added, sending him a wink when he looked up. "I find it offers a nice touch of relaxation while also providing a small burst of energy just in time to start preparing dinner."

"What's the mix? Unless it's a secret. It's okay if it is, you don't have to tell me."

"It's no secret; a simple combination of black Assam and a particularly delicate Chinese green, is all. I find it very refreshing."

"Assam…that's in India, right?"

"It is indeed." _What nine year old knows the particulars of Asian geography? _he wondered. "Is there a particular reason that you ask?"

"Oh…well, my mom always says…always _said,_" he corrected himself, his lip quivering for a second, "that a long, long time ago our ancestors came from India. And then they moved up into Europe, and eventually to America, although that last part didn't happen until about a hundred years ago. I've never been there, to India, I mean" he shrugged. "But maybe I'll go someday. I'd like to."

_Ah-ha_. _Master Wayne did say that a fair number of the people he saw in the circus seemed to have Gypsy features, and this boy is no exception to that, _he thought, casting a meticulous eye over the slightly dusky skin and night-black hair._ It is nice to have it confirmed, though. _"I believe, young sir, that your forebears may have come from a more southerly part of the Indian subcontinent than this particular tea did," he informed him. "But the two certainly aren't far apart, in the grand scheme of things, are they?"

"No, si-Alfred."

They drank for several moments in silence before the butler spoke again. "Was tea time a regular occurrence in your home, Master Dick?" he asked gently, hoping the question wouldn't be too intrusive but knowing that it was important that he review as many happy memories as possible. Doing so would help him focus on the good times he had with his parents rather than on the mode of their passing.

"Yes," he whispered, putting his cup down and staring into it. "Dad didn't like it much, but mom and I did. Every afternoon, even when we were on the road, she…she'd make a pot of tea, and me and her would sit together and drink it and just talk about…oh, about everything. If we were traveling she would make it when we stopped for lunch, and keep it warm in a thermos until later. If it was a nice day and we were camped, we'd find a field, or a park, and have it there. On wet days we'd stay in the trailer and watch the rain fall. We had tea together under the Eiffel Tower once; everybody looked at her like she was crazy when she pulled our glasses out of her bag and started pouring. It was okay that they stared, though, because I was with her, and I knew she didn't care what they thought of us. Then when we were in Switzerland we climbed this big hill, and we just talked about the mountains and the air and how pretty the snow was the whole time we drank."

A slow, heavy tear ran down his cheek. "She was so excited to come back to America. She couldn't stop talking about all the places we'd have our tea together. She said we'd…we'd have a picnic on the prairie, and then pick flowers, and the mountains would be even bigger than in Switzerland. And when we got to the Pacific, we'd sit on the beach and watch for whales…" He shook his head. "But that will never happen now." Wrapping his arms around his stomach, he shook slightly, trying to hold back the sobs he wanted to release. "…I'm sorry," he gasped, then bolted before Alfred could react.

"Oh, what have I done?" the Englishman bemoaned to the now-empty kitchen as light footsteps faded down the hall. "I should have known better." _What was I thinking?_ he berated himself. _The poor child, to have been reminded of such things when he is already under so much stress and dealing with so many changes. Recalling happy memories is one thing, but to start with such a core part of his daily life was foolish._ Rising and moving to the pantry, he pulled out a container of chocolate chip cookies he had baked the night before and placed several on a small plate. _I'll give him a few minutes to collect himself, then go up and check. I'm sure he's gone to his room, he hasn't had time yet to find any other places to hide._

Dick fled through the huge, empty house, flying up the stairs and down the hall, turning twice before he finally found the space that had been assigned to him. He almost threw himself on the bed, but thought better of it when he remembered how wide and lonesome it had felt the night before. _Everything here is so different,_ he cried to himself, finally perching on the window seat and wrapping one of the heavy damask curtains around himself. He pulled it so that it blocked out the expanse behind him and stared through the window. A few small, bright birds were picking at the ground below him, drawing his attention. Like this, with the drapes reminding him of the tapestries in old Tanti Soraya's fortune-telling tent, he almost felt like he was somewhere familiar, someplace safe.

"Mama," he moaned, burying his face against his knees. "Mama, why? I'm trying to adapt, trying to do what Tata always told me, but it's so hard, mama… Who…who will I drink tea with now? Why did you have to go? Why didn't you see it coming?" She'd been taking lessons from Soraya, he remembered, learning to read palms and bones and tea leaves so that someday, when she could no longer glide through the air effortlessly, she could still serve the circus. It was a natural progression; Soraya had once been a flier, many, many years before. The old woman said once that she believed that women of the trapeze possessed a heightened sense of things to come, honed by years of hovering mere meters from death and worrying as their husbands and children did the same. That daily closeness with mortality entwined with maternal emotions to open a window to the places where lives were woven, she swore, and with proper training a woman of the air could learn to read the future. "You didn't see it, though," he whimpered. "You didn't see it coming. Why, mama? And Tanti…you should have seen it, too. You should have known…You should have stopped it!"

A light knock on the open door startled him. "Master Dick? Are you in here?"

He wiped his eyes and choked back his cries. "I'm here, Alfred," he managed to say without his voice shaking too much. A second later the man was sitting beside him, a plate of cookies in his hand. "I-I'm sorry about downstairs. I didn't mean to ruin your break."

"It is I who should be apologizing to you," the Englishman said steadily, staring into the painfully blue eyes that arrested everyone who caught sight of them. Glistening as they were now with salty water, they made him want to hunt down every person who had ever said so much as a cross word to the boy. _No,_ he thought sharply. _A semblance of that task had already been undertaken by Master Wayne. I now understand __why__ he is so very taken with him, but my equal entrancement must be demonstrated in a different manner._ "I did not mean to bring up painful memories."

"…It's okay. You didn't know I was going to end up crying."

"We didn't quite make it to our snack, so I thought cookies were rather in order," Alfred changed the subject. "Do you like chocolate chip?" _Please, don't let baking have been something else you did with your dear mother,_ he begged silently.

"Thanks," he murmured, taking one. Biting into it, a tiny smile blossomed. "You're a good baker, too. Is there anything you _can't_ do?"

"The things that are outside of my desires or capabilities are mostly covered by Master Wayne," he confided. "Although there are several niches that haven't been filled yet," he tacked on with a subtle glance. He'd noticed on his way into the room that none of the boy's belongings had been unpacked; the chamber was as sumptuously stark as it had been during all the years since the last gay visitors had come to stay with the long-past Master and Mistress. Putting that fact together with his clear discomfort a while earlier, it hadn't taken much thought to realize that part of the problem was that the child didn't feel welcome. Letting him know that there was a role for him to play in the household beyond that of the charity case the papers were insisting he was seemed as good a place to start as any. "But now that you're here…"

"…Alfred?" Dick spoke slowly, not sure if he dared to ask the question on the end of his tongue. He was beginning to really like the man beside him – especially his tea – but he knew he worked for Bruce, and had for a long time. There was a level of loyalty there, he was certain, that might make his question inappropriate, or at least impossible for the butler to answer honestly.

"Yes, Master Dick?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course, young sir. Anything at all."

"…Why does he want me?"

Alfred shifted, setting the plate aside and turning to face the boy more squarely. _There's no helping it,_ he told himself. _If he's going to live here, going to be a part of this household, then he needs to know the truth._ "I must tell you, I found myself asking the same question when he first told me about you," he admitted.

"…What do you mean?"

The butler sighed heavily at the look of confusion on his face. "Allow me to back up just a little. I have known Master Wayne since he was born. I was one of the first people to hold him, and I helped his parents raise him right up until they were murdered." He paused. "Did he tell you about that?"

"A little bit. He didn't really want to talk about it." He looked away, back to the birds hopping about below. "I don't blame him."

"Well, after that night, it was just he and I. But he wasn't happy anymore. He forgot how to smile, it seemed. Everything was serious to him. He turned into himself completely. He seemed to come out of it as a teenager, but it was an act, mostly, put on to this very day so that the rest of the world could sit back and feel safe in their belief that one of the richest men living was nothing more than a silly, albeit business-gifted, socialite. At home though, he continued as he had been ever since that fateful evening; dark, brooding, and mostly unreachable."

"Mostly?" he queried. "…You were the only one he talked to?"

"More or less, yes. When he told me, several weeks ago, that he was going to a circus, it was one of the strangest things I had heard him say in some time. It wasn't my place, however, to inquire as to his purpose, so I settled for merely being glad that he would be out amongst other human beings in a setting that didn't involve copious amounts of alcohol. I still have not inquired as to what drove him to attend the show that night, and I may never do so. I'm not sure that even he knows why he went. The point is, though, that when he came back there was something different. It was as if a tiny flame had been lit within him. I had only seen such a thing in him once before, and therefore I knew that he was facing a very important – life altering, I would say – decision.

"We talked as we had not talked in several years, since the last major event in his life. We won't go into that," he said, seeing the question of what that event had been rising in the boy's eyes. "Our conversation went into the wee hours of the morning, and I personally put away more than one pot of the particular blend you and I shared this afternoon. It did little to calm me, but it did give me the energy to raise all the questions and concerns that were whirling in my mind. He had an answer for all of them, of course, and I slowly came to realize that something about you had touched him in a way that no other person had managed for twenty years. I was very, very puzzled by it; he has met people from all over the world, of varying levels of breeding and education, many of them questing to reach him in some special way, but until he met you no one had really succeeded. Oh, he has friends of a sort, people that he isn't averse to spending time with occasionally, but he has never been so intense when discussing them as he was when he told me about you."

"Wait," Dick interrupted. "You mean he came back here the night my parents…the night they died," he choked out, "and spent all that time talking about…me?"

"Yes, young sir. That is exactly what he did. All he could focus on was you."

"…I still don't get it, Alfred. He doesn't know me, he's barely even met me. But I'm here. Why?"

"Again, I wondered the same thing. I believe that I understand now, though. Simply put, Master Dick, you are him all over again, in so many ways beyond just the deaths of your respective parents. You are frighteningly intelligent, somewhat reserved with people you do not know, and a million other things. You are more advanced in some of your characteristics, I believe, than even he was at your age, and I know he noticed that as well. Good lord, you even look somewhat like him. However, there is one very, very important difference between you and Master Wayne." He leaned close. "Despite your tragedy, you haven't forgotten how to smile. What's more, you have a remarkable gift for making others smile, even when they've forgotten how."

"…I made him smile? How? I've barely spent any time with him!"

"You don't have to be present to bring one to his face. That's the miracle of it. The whole time we spoke that night, and during every instance since, he has smiled – truly, honestly _smiled_ – when speaking of you. I've even caught him doing so on several occasions over the past few weeks when no one else was in the room, and the only explanation is that he was thinking about you."

"…I'm glad I made him feel better, but that's a little creepy. He doesn't even know me! I mean, not _really_."

"Parts of you," the Englishman said. "He doesn't know parts of you. For instance, he doesn't know any of the things you told me about your mother this afternoon. But in the most basic essentials your beings, I believe that you are the same. That is what he sensed that night, young sir. A very complex, unexplainable sameness, a connection that goes much deeper than any of us are really able to understand."

"You mean like…maybe we were fated to end up like this?" For all that he'd been arguing, a tiny inkling of such a possibility had been in the back of his head all along.

"Do you believe in such things?"

"…I dunno. Part of me doesn't think things like that are real, but…I grew up with palm readers and psychics. And there are lots of things that I can't explain." He sighed. "Did he tell you that we talked, the night it happened?"

"Yes, but he didn't share the details of the conversation."

"I didn't say anything right afterwards. Not to the police, not to the other performers, not even to Pop Haly. And he tried really hard to get me to, Pop did." He blinked hard, remembering the circus director's expression as he'd begged him to say something, anything, to cry, or scream, or react in any way that wasn't just standing stock still. "I didn't say a word for three hours after they fell. By then, everyone was tired, or had gotten pulled off into other things. Somehow I ended up alone by one of the back entrances to the big top. But I didn't want to be there anymore. I didn't want to be near anyone, because for all that they kept saying how sorry they were, none of them understood." He gulped. "So I went for a walk. We were in this big field, and I just walked until I got to the end of it. There was a tall tree, and the moon was out…I climbed it. I climbed into that tree, and I just sat and stared up at the sky. I heard later that everyone freaked out when they noticed I'd disappeared; I didn't mean for that to happen, I just needed to get away from it all.

"He was the one who found me, out there in the tree. He didn't tell me to come down, though. He just stood at the bottom and talked to me, even when I didn't say anything back. And it's weird, because I don't remember hardly anything that he said, except about his parents, but…it was comforting. It made me feel better, a little bit, anyway. Eventually I came down on my own, because I could hear his voice getting scratchy and I thought maybe if I was closer he wouldn't have to raise his voice so much and he'd keep talking. And he did. He sat down right there on the grass with me and just…kept talking."

"You almost fell asleep in his arms, he said," Alfred told him.

"Yeah. I probably would have if someone hadn't come up and interrupted us. Social Services," he sneered. "Needs to go to bed, emotionally exhausted, blah blah blah. Like they knew what they were talking about. What I _needed_ was to sit there and keep letting him talk me through it. Anyway, they forced me away from him. But he stopped them. He stopped them, and got down in front of me, and told me that he hoped I had a dreamless sleep. It…it was the nicest thing anyone had said to me since they fell."

"And that's when you smiled," the butler said quietly, "and told him you hoped he had the same. A dreamless sleep."

"…Yeah."

"That was when he knew, Master Dick. He told me that was the moment he truly understood that you belong with us." He paused. "…Do you still wonder why he has brought you here?"

"…No. I think…I think I get it now. I felt it, too, that connection you talked about. Yesterday, though, he was so busy…I thought maybe he'd talk to me again, like he did that night, but he barely looked at me. I know he was busy, but…it still made me feel bad. Everything's changed so fast…it's scary, Alfred. Even knowing that he really does understand, and even with you being so nice…it's really, really scary." The tears began again, glistening on his cheeks in the late afternoon sun.

"Oh, precious child," the butler breathed, pulling him into a gentle embrace. "I have no doubt that it's completely terrifying."

"It is," he sobbed. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for. Your reaction to this situation has been more than just normal, young sir; it has been exemplary." He held him until he quieted, rocking slowly back and forth. "May I make an inquiry, Master Dick?"

"Sure," he sniffled.

"Why have you not unpacked any of your things?"

"I…I thought maybe he'd made a mistake. Maybe…maybe he'd change his mind and send me back. I mean, after yesterday…"

"Do you still feel that way?"

"No. Not after our talk. At least, I don't think I do."

"Would you like to unpack now, perhaps?"

"…I dunno. It's…it's so _big_ in here. This room is larger than my family's whole trailer. It just feels so empty and…and far away. Last night, there was no sound. Nothing. I used to be able to hear mom and dad whispering, and then dad would start snoring…the trailer would creak on its axles when it was windy…in the morning, they would have their coffee, and I could hear them drinking. All I had to do was reach down, and they were right there. Here…there's just too much space. There's no one nearby. It…it makes me sad, to be so far away."

"Hmm. Well, I think we can fix that."

"…We can? How?"

"Master Wayne assumed that this room would be preferable because it is the second largest bedroom we have. However, as you noted, it is some distance from both the main living area and from Master Wayne's own suite. The reason for that is that when this house was built, many decades ago, it was the fashion for children to be kept and cared for in their own section of the house. Among the rich, in particular, parents and their children rarely inhabited the same areas of the residence simultaneously."

"That's awful," Dick shivered.

"I agree. I'm sure Master Wayne chose this room for you not because he wanted to keep you at a distance but because he wanted to give you as much space and privacy as he thought you might need. He probably did not think about the fact that you are used to being around people. There is, however, a smaller bedroom just across the hall from the entrance to the master suite." He paused. "Would you like to see if it is more to your liking?"

"…He won't be mad, will he? I mean, you said he picked this room…"

"I assure you, young sir, he won't be mad, especially once he hears that you wanted to be closer to him."

"…Can we go look?"

"Certainly." He rose and stepped back from the window so that the boy could untangle himself from the curtains. Picking up the small suitcase before they walked down the hall, he was struck by its lightness. _We need to take him out shopping. Perhaps I can convince Master Wayne to do the honors…_ "Here we are," he announced, pushing open the door to a room roughly half the size of the one they had left behind. "Is this more comfortable for you?"

The child went inside and turned slowly around. "This is way better, Alfred," he said slowly. "I don't feel like I'm in an amphitheater anymore. It's still really big, though."

"I assure you, young sir, you'll soon have more than enough things to fill it."

"I don't really need anything more than what I have," he shrugged. "Although my one sock does have a hole in it…"

The butler nearly gaped at the boy's utterly unmaterialistic comment. "Regardless, there are a few items that I'm sure Master Wayne will insist upon you having." He laid the suitcase on the bed. "Shall we unpack?" He wasn't going to force the child, but giving his things places in the room would serve to seal the fact that this was to be his new home, and might relieve some of the uncertainty he still saw in his gaze.

"…Maybe I should wait and see what Bruce says? He might want me to go to a room that's not so close to his. I don't want to invade his privacy."

"I can't imagine him having an objection to your occupancy of this space, Master Dick, but if you would prefer to wait, that is up to you."

The boy ran his hand across the smooth cherry finish of the armoire. "…I guess I could at least hang my clothes up," he mused. "That's pretty fast to undo, if he wants me to go somewhere else."

"Certainly," the butler agreed gravely, moving to assist him. They chatted amiably as they stored the few outfits, and before Dick could realize what had occurred everything had a spot in which to rest. Even his now-empty suitcase had a home, nestled high on a closet shelf.

"Wow. Thanks for helping me, Alfred. It looks a lot different in here now."

"Indeed it does. Are you pleased with it?"

"Yeah." He sat on the bed, bouncing slightly. "It's nice." His face grew pensive. "…Alfred?" he asked bashfully, hoping he wasn't about to be too forward.

"Yes, Master Dick?"

"…Do you have tea _every_ afternoon?"

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards at the shaded but immensely hopeful look in the boy's eyes. "Why yes, young sir, I most certainly do." He paused. "Would you care to make a habit of joining me for it?"

"…Could I?" he asked eagerly. "Could I really?"

"It would make me very happy if you would, young sir. A wise man once said that sharing tea with a fascinating stranger is one of life's true pleasures. I believe that to be true."

The child cocked his head to one side. "Is that what I am?" he wondered aloud. "A 'fascinating stranger?'"

"Well, I don't think I'd call you a stranger any longer," Alfred allowed. "Hopefully you no longer feel like one."

"I don't. At least, not as much as I did before. I…I feel a lot better now," he confessed.

"Very good. I'm glad to hear it. As for the other adjective, I daresay you are one of the most fascinating people I have ever encountered."

As if he'd spoken a magic phrase, a beaming grin suddenly took over the boy's entire visage. _Oh, my. If you gave Master Wayne even half as brilliant of a look as the one you're giving me right now, then it's no wonder he was drawn to you so magnetically._

"Thanks, Alfred," he said, a completely unforced and natural cheerfulness entering his voice. "I think you're pretty awesome, too."

"…Come, young sir," he gestured, pleasant warmth filling him as a result of the compliment. "If you would like, I believe we have just enough time to reheat and finish our pot from earlier before Master Wayne returns from work." He smiled as the boy jumped up from the bed with a quick nod and followed him, asking curious questions along the way.

As they passed through the halls, Alfred would have sworn he saw the shadows retreating from the bright child at his side.


	2. The Solitary Teataker's Lament

Every afternoon, almost without fail, Alfred could count on having delightful company for tea. Sometimes his partner in the partaking could barely sit still, bouncing with news from school or, on weekends in particular, with anticipation of that night's patrol at Batman's side. Other days were quiet, the boy exhausted from chasing criminals through the darkest alleys of Gotham the previous evening or weighed down with homework and studying for the advanced classes he was taking. The butler often asked himself if he preferred one mode to the other, and was never able to reach a satisfying conclusion that wasn't a dead heat. It was time spent with the child he had very quickly come to consider a grandson, and that made it all equally precious.

He never found himself missing the old days when he had taken his tea by himself, lulled into a near-meditation by the steady tick of the clock or, more rarely, putting Dvorak to play on the small stereo Master Wayne had insisted on having installed for him when the kitchen was last remodeled. At the time he had been unable to imagine taking his afternoon break in any other manner, or indeed wanting to; now, however, the rare cups sipped in true solitude were more like chores to be borne than moments of repose. His blends seemed to agree; the brew never tasted quite right when Master Dick wasn't savoring it with him.

They generally chatted about one thing or another. At first their discussions had been largely retrospective, each sharing little bits of their history and revealing more of their personalities with each sip. They captivated each other, the half-Rom and the Englishman, one raised in a traveling circus and steeped in near poverty and arcane mysticism, the other born and bred to serve under the auspices of modern gentility and British stoicism. When the most important stories had been told, they moved on to other, but no less intimate, matters, running the gamut from music to aesthetics to religion to literature. The unsolvable quandaries of Heller's Captain Yossarian occupied them for over a week at one point, finally culminating in a weekend viewing of the film, their analysis of which kept them animated for a further three afternoons.

Even when they disagreed on a point, they kept their words civil, and always found themselves parting with smiles. Alfred couldn't help but feel a sense of personal accomplishment when at age thirteen the young master won a state-wide debate with a particularly sharp but painfully polite rebuttal that left his much-lauded and significantly older rival grasping to form coherent sentences. He repeated the feat twice more, finally withdrawing himself from the activity this past year only because his ever-increasing involvement with Young Justice inhibited his ability to make after-school practices. It had saddened the butler to see him give up a civilian activity in order to spend even more time behind a mask, but after he'd been assured that it was what the boy truly wanted he left it alone.

Occasionally they sat together without saying a word besides 'sugar,' 'please,' and 'thank you.' A few of those times had been immediately after major events that had left both of them so drained that they came together only due to their shared disdain for the abandonment of ritual, even in times of crisis. In those instances, Alfred imagined that he understood how his own mother must have felt taking tea in the midst of the Blitz, and found himself more grateful than ever for the still-slight figure across from him. On too many other afternoons the Englishman carried a tray upstairs to where his younger charge lay in bed recovering from one wound or another acquired under the guise of Robin. Frequently on such days he was the only one able to imbibe anything, due either to unconsciousness or internal injury, but even when the boy was insensate the butler ensured that they shared their teatime.

Master Wayne, he knew, didn't really understand, and try as he might Alfred was simply incapable of explaining it to him adequately. What had started out as a kind gesture, an attempt to make a damaged and drifting child feel welcome, had blossomed into a communion that left both parties fulfilled on some primal social level. He'd told the billionaire as much, but before the words had passed his lips he'd known they weren't sufficient. There was no way to relay the deep connection, the spiritual bond between himself and the boy, that drinking tea together had forged. He ardently wished he could make him fathom it, but the task seemed impossible.

Pulling the kettle off and pouring the water into the pot, he wondered if today's tea would be a lonesome one. So many of them had been of late, with Master Dick preparing for finals and an early graduation from high school on top of leading his fellow teenaged heroes on missions further and further afield and still serving Gotham at Batman's right hand. The butler could hardly hold his success against him - indeed, he reveled in it, viciously proud – but it did make him ache to look across at the silver-wrought birds of the empty chair and know that an era was passing.

Just as he was sighing at that thought, he heard the back door close. _It is most likely Master Wayne home early from the office,_ he tried not to let his hopes rise. _It is Friday, after all, and he likes to give himself an early out for the weekend._ As he expected, no footsteps could be picked up approaching the kitchen, but he couldn't keep a smile off of his lips when a lithe shadow passed into the room regardless. "Good afternoon, young sir," he greeted. "I was hoping you would be joining me today."

"I know, I've been crazy busy lately," the sixteen year old said regretfully, coming up beside him. "I hate it. It makes me miss the old days."

"Things are very different now, it's true," he acknowledged, carrying the same gilt platter they'd used to share their first pot to the table. He could read the nostalgia in the boy's face as two cups were poured and the proper amount of sugar added. "What adventures, pray tell, have kept you?" he asked gently, handing over a cup.

Dick smiled sadly at the older man's choice of words; he knew Alfred spoke like that partly to amuse him and partly because reverting to formalism was how he controlled strong emotions. _He's missed me,_ he realized, the guilty knot in his stomach tightening. _I need to make more of an effort to be here for this. I'm not the only one who suffers when an afternoon goes by without our cup of tea._ "Oh, myriad ones," he replied, playing along with the olden verbiage. "Such tales to be told, Alfred." He sipped, closing his eyes as the familiar blend slipped down his throat. _Perfect. As always._

"Regale me, I beg of you," he rejoined, observing him. _He's missed this,_ he read in the look of beatitude that flickered across his face at the first taste. _He looks thin. He's absent for so many dinners any more…I just know he isn't eating properly. I ought to begin making him carry some sort of trail mix or energy bar…_

"Well, I just found out that I have a speech to write."

"…Oh? On what topic?"

"I don't know. What do valedictorians normally talk about? I ask because I'd kind of like to be original, so I need to know what to stay away from."

Alfred would have dropped his cup had he been in the least surprised by the news that the young master was first in his class despite being two years younger than the others who would be receiving their diplomas in just under a month's time. "Congratulations are in order, then, Master Dick," he said quietly. "I'm very proud of you."

"…Thanks, Alfred."

"Not at all. Thank _you_ for being such an exemplary child for as long as I've known you. I could not have asked for an easier charge to raise, let alone expected to receive one."

"…Okay, we haven't had tea together in like a week," the teen said slowly, wide blue eyes looking suspiciously moist. "And I really don't want to ruin the flavor with tears, you know? The extra salt only really works with lapsang souchong."

The butler chuckled. "Ah, you _have_ been paying attention, haven't you?" he teased, rising. "I made lemon bars last night in preparation for the corporate picnic tomorrow. There are a few extra, if you'd like…?"

"Awesome."

Returning and setting the treat down between them, he carried the conversation forward. "Have you told Master Wayne yet?"

"No. I haven't told anyone else yet."

_Oh, child. Making me the first to know…you're so very good at giving me meaningful gifts._ "He'll be delighted."

"Sure, Bruce'll be happy. But I think I'm going to sit on it until patrol tomorrow. I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention it." He gave a wicked grin. "I want to see how _Batman_ reacts when I casually drop that on him around midnight."

"For my own peace of mind, young sir, I would request that you tell him when he is _not_ leaning over the edge of a building or flying through the air."

Dick laughed. "No problem. I just hope he didn't do his usual thing and find out before me. That's so annoying sometimes…" They were silent for a short while. "Speaking of patrol, do you remember what you told me the last time we actually managed to be in the same room for five minutes? About Bruce not understanding our teas?"

"…Yes, I do recall that conversation. What of it?"

"I think I managed to explain it to him."

"Indeed? How did you achieve that?" he asked, taken aback.

"Well, I was thinking about it, and I realized that you just didn't have the right analogy to give him."

"The right analogy, Master Dick?"

"Yeah. You'll appreciate this, I think." He leaned forward, thin fingers wrapping around his spotless white cup. "You and I having tea is exactly the same as Batman and Robin standing on the rooftops."

"…Is it really?" the Englishman wondered aloud. He'd always been curious as to what the long stakeouts the vigilantes frequently found themselves on were truly like, but had sensed that he was no more likely to understand that than Master Wayne was to comprehend teatime. It was a world closed off to him, he had always assumed with only the slightest hint of regret. "In what ways, if you don't mind my asking?"

"All of them, really," the teen shrugged. "We do the same things out there that you and I do here. We talk, we enjoy the atmosphere…we even joke, although with Batman the jokes are usually stillborn. Occasionally I can get him to crack a smile, though. Don't get mad or anything, but the smell of Gotham at night is sort of like your tea."

"I beg your pardon?" he raised an eyebrow. It was a safe bet that he wasn't being insulted, but he had a very difficult time imagining a single way in which his meticulously blended beverages were anything like the stale, dank air of the inner city.

"I know, it sounds really weird, right? But…well, there's a cycle to the tea. In the summer we drink a certain mixture, and a different one in the winter, and for certain holidays and special occasions…the air's like that. It smells one way after a rain, and another when it's going to get cold. In April there's a freshness on top of those buildings that you would swear has to be blowing in from somewhere else. The point is, it's predictable, to an extent. For me, fall doesn't start until the day I taste cinnamon with Darjeeling; for Robin, it's not spring until there's a hint of loam mixed in with the smell of the river. Anyway, I think he understood after I told him it was like our patrols. At least, he got really quiet after that, and he kept giving me this weird look. That's how he normally gets when I've made him really think about something, so I figure it got through to him."

"Remarkable," Alfred shook his head. "I have been trying for years to help him appreciate our little pastime, to no avail. It took you a mere two weeks, if that."

"Different perspective, I guess. Like I said, you didn't have access to the other side of the analogy." The clock struck four suddenly, and Dick sent the cuckoo a hateful look. "…I have to go," he said apologetically. "I'm due at Mount Justice at four thirty, and I really need a shower before I change." _Forgive me,_ his gaze begged. _I know I'm awful for cutting it short, but…_

The Englishman smiled obligingly. "Go on with you, then, young sir," he said graciously. "I'll not be offended." _You, like your father, have become a very important person, relied on by many others. It is hardly my place or right to begrudge you your duties._

_He's slipped back into olden-speak,_ the teen chewed his lip. _This isn't fair. I don't __want__ to go, damn it!_ "We're working in Florida tonight," he shared after draining his cup. "Something to do with human trafficking, I think. I'll try and bring back a couple of oranges; maybe we can eat them with our tea tomorrow, yeah?"

"Perhaps a nice white tea, then," Alfred mused. "The subtleties of the tea and the oranges should play along nicely."

"Sounds good," he said, standing. "I'll see you later," he added as he came around the table and bent to give him a quick hug.

"Master Dick!" he called a second after he disappeared around the corner.

"What's up?" he asked, popping his head back around.

"…Do make sure you have a good dinner before you leave on your mission. You're still a growing boy, you need your nourishment."

A radiant, agreeable smile instantly calmed the butler's nerves. "Sure thing, Alfred," he nodded, then vanished again.

Heaving a sigh, he bustled around the kitchen, cleaning up from tea and lining up ingredients for Master Wayne's dinner. _Not that he'll eat much of it. He never does when Master Dick isn't here to share it with him, which is an even rarer occurrence than our teatimes of late…_ Stopping, he turned around and leaned against the counter, staring at the small two-person table at which he had passed so many happy afternoons over the past seven years. _He's grown up so fast. What will I do when it ends? When he goes off to college, or moves away on his own? Even if he stays in Gotham, even if he is so kind to Master Wayne and I as to remain here at the manor, he will soon be far too busy to drop everything for a cup of tea. He's nearly there already. _He shook his head, fighting back tears at the thought of returning permanently to a solitary tea. _It can't be helped. It's as it should be. I'll simply have to hope that I've stored enough memories to replay as if he's here with me…_

But it wouldn't be the same, he knew. _We simply aren't given enough time,_ he breathed sadly, trying to put it out of his mind as he warmed a pan on the stove. _And we never will be._

**Author's Note: I should probably point out at this juncture that these little one shots won't necessarily go in any sort of chronological order, but will just come out as the inspiration hits. For those who were wondering, 'Heller's Captain Yossarian' is a reference to the protagonist of Joseph Heller's excellent novel Catch-22. If you haven't read Catch-22, I highly recommend it. If you have read Catch-22, I highly recommend Closing Time, which is the sequel to Catch. I actually found that I got more of the references in Closing Time simply because it is set during a time period I was actually alive for, so if Catch-22 seemed a little distant to you, you might find yourself enjoying Closing Time more.**

**On another note, lapsang souchong is a delicious tea. **

**As always, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this new chapter.**


	3. Hope

**Author's Note: Okay, this one's a little different. It does come around to tea, I promise, but along the way there are zombies. The sketched feel to the story is an attempt both to stick to the shorter lengths I'm using for this collection and as an outline for what may become a longer, much more detailed and fleshed out (haha) tale. If anyone would actually be interested in seeing this particular piece in a much longer format, please let me know; I love zombies personally, but not everyone feels the same.** **Warnings for character death (no one who has ever resided in Wayne Manor, mind you) and potentially disturbing images. This chapter should be considered a high-level T.**

It had all gone wrong. Everything they'd known, loved, and cherished, was diseased, destroyed, or missing, and the situation was far and away past being helped. All they had left was each other, and hope.

It had started as a mission, a simple case of stopping Scarecrow before the new drug he was rumored to be working on was completed. Batman, Nightwing, Red Robin, and Robin went out together, and that fact, Alfred reflected later, should have been a warning sign of things to come. They managed their task – how could the Bat and three of his birds _not_ have, after all – and that was the problem. The new toxin was nothing like its predecessors; instead of evoking fear in the minds of those it was given to, it turned the villain's usual rhetoric on its head, making the injected person the source of fear rather than a sufferer from it. There were issues with it, though. The point had never been for the effects to be reversible – "Once a shambling terror, Batman, always a shambling terror!" Dick remembered Crane screaming as he was carted away to jail – but they weren't meant to be transmissible from person to person, either. Arresting Scarecrow before he solved the worst side effect of the drug, its virulence, pushed the concoction into a realm of dangerousness that not even its creator had intended.

And that, they decided later, was why the toxin hadn't been used outside of the madman's lab yet. Cages lined the room, full of samples of his latest work; mice, cats, dogs, monkeys, and the requisite human beings, restrained, unclothed, and incurably enraged. Seeing what it was capable of, Batman had, naturally, pocketed a sample of the drug before the authorities arrived. Back in the cave, his research went well; he was nearing a potential cure when the breakout happened. They never learned for certain what occurred, but from the information that could be gathered one of the men tasked with guarding the diseased people and animals had gotten too close and ended up bitten. The victim had been sent home to rest, and by the time anyone realized that the toxin was fluid-carried and highly transmittable, he, his family, and those they had bitten overnight had infected almost an entire block of the city.

The police couldn't handle it, especially once they realized that not even their most extreme tactics could keep the carriers from getting back up. Someone finally tried a headshot, screaming something about Hollywood as they pulled the trigger, and while it did work it was a hard lesson to follow. They were outnumbered, their ranks culled, fallen officers rising again to give bloody chase to their former partners. Less than twenty four hours following the first bite incident, Gotham had descended into utter hell. By two, Bludhaven joined her sister city in that realm.

Alfred kept an ear on the radio news as he went about his business that day, trying to stay calm as he listened to reports of people fleeing, only making it worse as they drew their pursuers into new areas. Shortly after the Gotham PD lines broke, the kitchen phone rang. "Master Wayne," he breathed upon picking it up, relieved at the familiar voice.

"I'm on my way home. Company helicopter, I'm not risking driving through this mess. I'll pick Damian up at school on my way." He paused. "We might have to ruin a couple of flowerbeds to land."

"A small price to pay, sir."

"Get the boys home. Tell them to come prepared for…well…for anything."

He called the eldest first, not only because he would need the most time to get there but because, although neither he nor Master Wayne would speak such a truth out loud, he was the most beloved. To the butler's extreme discontent, there was no answer at his home or mobile numbers. Gritting his teeth – _I do hate calling him at work, but this is an emergency – _he dialed the number of a Bludhaven police precinct and punched in a long along memorized extension.

"You've reached the desk of Detective Richard Grayson. I'm out dealing with the apocalypse right now, but if you'd like to leave a message, maybe we'll both live long enough for me to get back to you." _Bloody hell, he stopped to change his voice mail before he waded into this disaster. That little scamp…_ There was a pause. "Alfred, if this is you, I'm already on my way. Should be there by tea time." _Brilliant__ little scamp_.

Tim answered his cell, reported that he was halfway there already, and hung up. _Perhaps I ought to call…_ the butler considered, then shook his head. _Master Wayne would not be happy. Although considering the circumstances…well. I don't have a good number for Master Jason, in any case,_ he recalled, settling the matter.

Three of his charges had arrived almost simultaneously – the helicopter did, indeed, take out a bed of azaleas – and, after sharing what little they knew, retired to the cave, desperately working to finish the cure before things got any worse. Tim proposed that he and Damian go and try to help where they could, but Bruce flatly refused; not without him, and not so long as Dick was still out there. Not while this awful menace had already potentially taken one of them. Instead, he sent them to the Watchtower and Mount Justice to spread the word to those who weren't yet aware of the situation.

Darkness fell, and as the Gotham television and radio stations began to go out, Bludhaven's falling shortly afterwards, Alfred activated the manor's defenses, entering the security code he'd hoped to never use. Steel shutters fell from their hiding places in the window sashes; heavy bolts punched into pre-drilled holes in the tops and bottoms of the exterior doors. He busied himself with dinner, setting four places and hoping that they would all be filled when the time came. _He missed tea time,_ he swallowed heavily as he placed the last fork.

But only two filed into the dining room at six thirty. "Bruce won't stop," Tim reported. "He said he hit a snag with the cure." Taking his seat, he cast the butler a hopeful look. "Did you hear from Dick?"

"…No, Master Tim," his mouth tightened visibly. "I have not." No other words were exchanged as his youngest charges picked at their meals, but they all jumped when the kitchen phone rang. "Master Dick?" the butler answered questioningly, hoping against hope.

"Alfred," he heard whispered back, "I need you to open the right side of the front door when you hear the second explosion. As soon as I'm inside, close it again."

"Very good, young sir," he agreed, leaving the phone on the counter and going to the main entrance. Just as he reached it, the first blast sounded from outside, somewhat distant from the house but plenty loud enough to be heard. Manually retracting the bolts, he waited. Thirty seconds passed, and there was another rumble. He yanked the door wide and saw a blur go tumbling by, graceful even as it left a smeary trail of crimson on the clean floor. He slammed the entrance closed again, locking it before he turned, ad gasped.

"I'm fine," came immediately. "Sorry I'm late."

"…You're absolutely _covered_ in blood," the Englishman replied, his voice caught between flabbergasted, fearful, and lecturing.

"None of its mine," he grimaced, beginning to strip.

"I'll get you a wet cloth." As he passed into the kitchen, trying to hide the fact that his hands were shaking with relief, Tim ran into the entryway, Damian following him at a slightly slower pace.

"Don't touch me! Some of this is from those things," Dick warned before he could be tackled. "Going to have to burn these clothes…"

Bruce arrived upstairs at that point, and only the risk of contaminating himself kept him from pulling his son into his arms. Once he was clean and the necessary solace had been exchanged across the board, Dick gave them the bad news; Gotham and Bludhaven were overrun, completely. Neighboring cities were beginning to see infected people on their outskirts. Worst of all, an idiotic effort at humanitarianism in the middle of the crisis had resulted in the medical airlift of several entoxined patients to New York and Boston; those cities, too, were crumbling.

There was a moment of stunned silence before Bruce ordered his eldest downstairs to help him and the youngest back to their dinners. Fists pounded at the armored doors and windows of the manor for two hours before the call had come for a general meeting at the Watchtower. The only person who questioned whether he would be going with them was the butler himself, who tried to demur but was overruled by the matching expressions of Bruce and Dick, who made it clear that they had no qualms about dragging him into the Zeta tube if necessary. Even Damian didn't dare object, and any concerns that might have been raised were quashed by the fact that he was far from the only civilian who was brought to safety by a family member with a secret identity. Nightwing managed to find him a quiet spot in the back from which to watch the general assembly, and the Englishman was completely tickled to see how active and outright respected his first two charges were in this gathering of heroes.

A plan was formed, teams assembled and dispatched. Unable to remain idle at any time, especially when the most important people in the world to him were out in the cataclysm, Alfred swiftly took over the kitchen, organizing several of the other civilians to assist him in keeping a steady flow of hot food and beverages available for the warriors flitting in and out of the transporters. Each time a team came back, he noticed, they seemed to have lost a member, either left below or swept off to the frantic medical bays, and a general sense of despair permeated the air as more and more names were added to the lists of the fallen. In the beginning, the halls had been deserted of people in costume; now they began to appear in corners, staring individuals or huddled pairs. The horrors from below, the lives of friends and allies they'd seen taken and been unable to stop, piled up in their minds, pushing many almost to the breaking point. They couldn't fight anymore, and their numbers grew with the hours.

In the course of refilling the tables of refreshments they'd set up near the tubes, he saw Batman, Robin at his side, once, and tipped him a nod that the cowled man had no time to return. Red Robin, tasked with gathering information from different places, appeared in his field of vision several times. They managed to exchange a few words, the younger man inquiring about the others, in particular his older brother, before he had to return to the fray. Alfred could tell him nothing about Nightwing other than what they both already knew; he'd been assigned to lead the team trying to hold Chicago.

That knowledge made it all the worse when the reports began to pour in from the middle part of the country. The sheer force that was the infected population of the East Coast turned into the heart of the continent voraciously, and the entire operation seemed doomed to fail. Batman and Robin appeared again, retreating from an Atlanta that hadn't burned so brightly since the days of Sherman. While they waited to be reassigned, the boy giving in and all but sleeping against his father's leg, Alfred approached them with drinks and rags for their soot-smeared faces. As a result, they were together when the announcement was made.

"Chicago has fallen."

Every pair of eyes in the transport room turned to the tubes, waiting. "Nightwing, B01," cut through the anticipatory silence. Alfred slumped with relief even as Batman breathed beside him, "only one?"

He was a wild-eyed mess, not even trying to hide it as he stumbled out. The butler didn't realize that Batman had moved forward until he saw him all but catch the younger man.

"What happened? Where's the rest of your team?" He'd gone down at the head of nine others, but come back alone, the worst record of the battle yet. A tiny whimper escaped him as Batman shook him. "Answer me!"

"It works on metahumans," he whispered.

That was news, and sharp intakes of breath were heard from more than one member of the assemblage. Many of the missing and dead were metas, but they had either outright disappeared during battle or been torn to pieces, leaving no opportunity to see if the disease could grip them, too. _Metahumans,_ Batman realized. _Flash. Flash was with him._ "Okay," he said in a more gentle tone than anyone who hadn't resided in Wayne Manor had ever heard come from the mouth beneath the cowl. "I understand. What about the others?"

"…He was too fast for them. He…he killed them." This time there were a couple of screams, and that was enough to draw the black-clad man's attention to the fact that everything they were saying was being overheard.

"Alfred," he barked. "Take him. Nightwing," he cupped his cheek. "Can you go to my room? Do you remember the code?"

"Uh-huh."

"Go with Alfred."

"Where are you-" his eyes widened as he was passed off to the butler.

"Go with Alfred," he repeated. "Robin, with me." He headed for the tubes, punching in the coordinates for the last place Red Robin had been sent. Just before the room faded, he saw the crowd parting to let them through, talk already breaking out. _Jesus Christ. It works on metahumans._ Little as he liked the idea, it was beginning to look hopeless. _No one is safe now, except maybe the aliens._

In the small, mercifully private chamber, Nightwing fell onto the bed, his face echoing the empty gazes of those the butler had watched slowly amass in the hallways over the past day. He sat beside him, not speaking, merely letting a quiet hand rest on his shoulder.

"…It was too much, Alfred," his voice broke.

"It's all right," he soothed.

"It wasn't like it was in Bludhaven, a few of them at a time. It was crowds of them, solid blocks of bodies moving up the freeways…and it was a lucky hit, that's all it was. We thought we'd gotten all of the uninfected people off of the roads and behind the barricades, but he saw this little kid. He swore he'd be okay, even though they were almost up to where he needed to go…he got there, I was watching, and he _got_ there, and got the kid out of the car, but…he didn't know. He didn't know the kid had been bitten. He picked him up, and he must have thought he was just screaming from fear, and then it…it was too late. He made it back to the walls, and that was the worst part, because I couldn't…I couldn't let him in. He changed right there, Alfred, and he was begging me, _begging_ me to kill him before he did. And I couldn't do it. How could I? How? When there might still be a cure, how could I kill my best friend, of all people?

"The barricades were never going to be strong enough. Not with that many pressed against them. They piled up, and eventually they just climbed over each other to get to us. We tried, Alfred, we tried _so_ _hard, _we retreated through section after section, trying to keep as many civilians alive as we could, trying to hold some part of the city…and then he was there. He'd gotten in. No one else even saw him, I don't think – I only did because I saw the others go down as he hit them – and he got _all_ of them. There were no other infected people anywhere close to us right then, so it had to be him. I didn't think he'd retain his powers after he'd changed, I didn't _know_, Alfred…"

_Oh, my poor, darling boy,_ he moaned to himself as he listened. _Don't go on with this. Just sleep, and forget for a while. Please._

"I got lucky," he croaked. "It was just me and Black Canary left. She looked at me, and she _knew_. She knew it was him. She knew we were dead. And then she really _was_ dead, and all I could think was that he had to be coming for me. So I swung as hard as I could." He was in tears now, sobbing, curled in a tight ball as he whined out the end of the tale. "And I got him, Alfred. I…I took the top of his goddamn head off with my stick. I know I had to do it, he'd have had the rage to L.A. by now if I hadn't, but…but I fucking _killed_ him…"

The butler just leaned down and held him for several long minutes. _How can I expect you to go on after this?_ he wondered miserably. _How can any of us go on? If the others don't come back…No. No, I will __not__ think of that. Of course they'll return. They must. And there must be a cure, and some sort of world to go back to, eventually…there must be._

Superman's voice on the intercom interrupted his thoughts. "All persons in the Watchtower will make their way to the transport room in an orderly fashion. Please leave all personal items here." A beat. "Thank you."

_Where the hell is he going to send us all?_ Alfred mused. _Europe? Perhaps the other continents are safe…_ "Come on," he encouraged, sitting up. "We need to go."

"'M not leaving."

"Of course you are," he said, a note of sternness entering his voice. "We both are."

"Not without them."

"…I don't like the idea either, Master Dick, but we must." He paused. "You know your father would want you safe."

"Yeah. And I want him safe. So I'm not leaving without him. Or Tim. Or Damian. We're safe enough here, where they'll come back to."

_Well, at least he's showing an emotion other than despair,_ the butler managed to find a sarcastic silver lining. _And I can hardly blame him for wanting to stay. But he's all that I have at the moment, and as such I __will__ keep him safe. _"I really must insist-"

"Where could we go that would be safer from an infection on earth than an orbiting station, Alfred? Really, where?"

"…You do have a point, young sir." He wasn't entirely displeased; after all, he was none too happy about the idea of evacuating the place his other charges were the most likely to return to. "Very well."

Superman entered suddenly, slamming the door behind him. "What are you doing in here?" he hissed, an uncharacteristically frantic look in his eyes. "Didn't you hear the announcement?"

"I'm not leaving," Nightwing said flatly. "Not without them."

"You have to, right now!"

"You seem a bit out of sorts, sir," Alfred voiced slowly. _If Superman has come unhinged from all of this, we have a very serious problem._

"I'm not leaving. This is safer than anywhere else you can send us. I'm waiting here for them."

"…The Watchtower is infected. Someone – I won't say who, it's not worth damaging their memory – came back with a scratch and didn't say anything. They turned in medical."

"Oh, my," the butler whispered. _Safe, indeed._

"You both have to come with me, right now. We can't hold them. We have to evacuate, _now_."

"No, goddamn it!" the younger man leapt up and stood his ground, bristling even as fresh tears streamed down his cheeks. "I'm not leaving, even if it is infected. You want to talk about tarnished reputations? Fine. Guess what I did today, Uncle Clark? I bashed my best friend's face into his skull. But because I wasn't strong enough to do it sooner, he got at least eight other people first. Then I ran away, and let the third biggest city in the country – the city everyone expected me to protect – be overrun. I left one field of battle already today, like a fucking _coward_, and I will not leave this one too!"

He was too busy screaming at the Kryptonian to see the fist that connected with his temple from the other side, knocking him out instantaneously. Superman shot the Englishman a surprised look as he caught the slumping figure. "I will not stand by and watch his guilt get him killed," was the only excuse that was offered as the butler placed a soft kiss on the top of his charge's head. "If you will please carry him to the exit…?"

A week after the mission that had started it all, they arrived in London, Alfred entering the country of his birth with a grim expression. Beside him, cradled in Superman's arms and blissfully unaware that the Zeta tubes were being shut down across the board to keep the same thing from happening to Europe that had happened at the Watchtower, was the one person that he knew for a fact he still had left in the world. It wasn't the way he'd always hoped he and Master Dick would visit this particular city together for the first time, but it was better than not being there together at all.

After a few days sequestered in a building crowded with other evacuees from the JLA headquarters, during which Alfred had wisely kept Nightwing heavily sedated, they were processed by the comparatively tiny and very overwhelmed European branch of the League and allowed to leave. They were offered a small one-bedroom flat, but the butler had no intention of going anywhere other than the small country estate Master Wayne had gifted him two decades earlier but which he had rarely visited. Superman took a brief break from flying back and forth over the areas in which missing heroes had been dispatched at the time of the Zeta shut-down in order to carry his surrogate nephew to his new home, and it was there, amongst ghost-like dustcovers and interminable rain, that Nightwing awoke.

He didn't speak for three days afterwards, glaring every time anyone entered his room. Alfred didn't push it. _He has no way of knowing how many of his friends are dead or missing, the statuses of his father and two of his brothers are…unknown…and he still carries the guilt he expressed during our last moments in the Watchtower. He can hardly be blamed for needing time to grieve; we all do._

The Kryptonian dropped in every morning, first at the shelter, now at the estate, and every time his mantra was the same. "You had to leave Chicago," he swore, gripping Dick's hand lightly. "You had to tell us that the infection affects metahumans. We didn't know that for sure until you told us, and it might have cost even more lives. You did everything you could. No one blames you for the city's fall. Everyone is just glad you're alive. People ask how you are constantly, people I didn't even know that you knew. I know everything's changed, but your reputation is unmarked. Remember that. When Alfred thinks you're ready, you should join us. We need you, but we need you to get well first."

Everything had changed, indeed. There was one thing that they could continue from before, though, and the butler insisted on it. It had been nearly five years since they were able to take tea together every afternoon, and with everything that was still going on around them – rescue mission after rescue mission went out, frequently returning with no one recovered from what was now becoming known as "Damnedest America," a horrible play on Joseph Conrad that Alfred could not stand – it was the only thing that anchored them to the happy times of the past. He poured out two cups diligently at three o'clock, kept up a light chatter, as cheerful as he could manage, and waited. On the fourth day, finally, he got a response.

"…When Superman comes tomorrow, I'm going with him."

"Not yet. You need more time, young sir. I'm sorry, but no." He watched sadly as the younger man blinked at him, then laid back down and stared up at the ceiling, relapsing into silence.

The next day, however, the Kryptonian brought a solution. "Here, Dick," he said, setting a laptop on the bed beside him. "It's linked into the network we're using to coordinate our rescue efforts. They do everything from scanning for signals from survivors to talking us through towns we're searching. They're short shifts, but it's important work."

"…I'd rather go and actually _look_ for them."

"There was a decision reached yesterday. Only persons of extraterrestrial origin are to set foot in the western hemisphere." Seeing the curious look that inspired, he shrugged. "Seems we're immune. J'onn was bitten a few days ago. He said it itched, but that was it."

"Oh. Good for him."

"Master Dick," Alfred chastised. "That's hardly the attitude to have. You're being offered an opportunity to help. I advise that you take it." It was the first remotely stern word he'd spoken to him since their arrival in England, and somehow it was exactly what was needed.

"…Thanks, Uncle Clark," he said softly, something sparking in his eyes. "Do I start tomorrow?"

"You do. Nightwing goes on duty at eight in the morning. Your shift ends at two in the afternoon."

"Okay." And he actually smiled.

Having something to do helped, and despite the nightmares and the constantly searching, pained look that never left his gaze, the butler could tell his charge was improving. Although they spent much of their time together when Nightwing wasn't hooked into the network, their tea remained the hour of the day when each felt closest to the other, and consequently the most at home in the now-sparkling mansion. They avoided the topic of whether or not the three bedrooms that were kept purposefully ready, just in case, would ever be used by the people they were intended for, but anything else was fair game for their discussions. Three more weeks passed, seeming to go too quickly considering all that had altered and too slowly when they contemplated the figures missing from their daily lives.

"Alfred," Dick said quietly one afternoon as they sat on the veranda and watched swans glide across the nearby pond.

"Yes, young sir?"

"…Does this ever feel unreal to you?"

It wasn't the first time that particular question had been broached. "Yes. It does. But it is very real, I assure you."

"I both love and hate that fact," he sighed, sipping.

"I completely understand that sentiment." It was hell not knowing the fates of so many, one trio in particular, but it was heaven to sit together like this. It always had been; it was as if they'd brought a personal possession with them, after all, something that was as impervious to the infection as Superman had learned for absolute certain some days before that he was.

"…What do you think the manor looks like now?"

"Oh," Alfred sighed, "I'm sure nothing's been done to it that a few days of clean rags and elbow grease couldn't cure. If they even got in," he added.

"Maybe a liberal application of funds, too. Plenty of those to go around."

"Yes, although many things are more expensive now. Grain products are exorbitantly priced. You wouldn't believe how much your morning toast costs of late."

"So _that's_ why you served oranges with tea today."

"No, I chose them due to the unbearable humidity."

"It is sticky," he admitted. "But the oranges were good." There was silence for a moment. "I wonder if they breached the cave. All it would take would be one of them walking into the cliff, you know?"

"Indeed."

"…Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Dick?"

"…I think I'm starting to give up on them a little."

_That's a lie. You might not realize it, but it is. _"I don't believe you mean that, young sir. You may be despairing, as we all are, but surely you trust Master Wayne more than that."

"He went down after Tim."

It was the same conclusion Alfred had reached. "I agree."

"…But I don't understand why he took Damian with him. He should have left him with us."

"I don't think it would have done any good for him to try," the butler opined. "Robin would have attempted to follow Batman, and I would have been but poorly able to stop him."

"You were too busy dealing with me," he sneered at himself. "And Damian paid the price."

"Your reaction to the events that had passed was entirely understandable," he replied immediately. "I do not begrudge you the care you required at that moment, and I assure you that neither do they."

"If they still have the capacity to begrudge anyone anything." _I hate this. I hate __myself__. I wish this would end. I wish they would come back, or…or __something__. It's the not knowing that's killing me._

"Master Dick," Alfred sighed. "I will admit that I, too, have my doubts at times. But I shove them away, violently if necessary, and I know that regardless of what you just said you do the same thing."

"I feel useless," he confessed, closing his eyes. "Even helping out on the network, I feel so useless sometimes. Days like today, when I scan for six hours and don't hear a single thing…they sap the hope I have left. And I don't know how to fix it. I don't _want_ to give up on them, Alfred, but sometimes it seems so impossible to keep thinking that there's even the slightest chance for _one_ of them, let alone all three…"

"Hmm…you know, young sir, that my mother survived the Blitz?"

"You told me," he nodded, not really sure where this was going but willing to go along for the ride because he knew the butler would wrap it back around somehow.

"When I was young, she would tell me about it. 'Like the world was ending, and all the light had gone from it,' she said. The planes seemed to come every night, and while nearly everyone managed a stiff upper lip, they couldn't quite hide what was in their eyes. She was rather young in 1940, and one day, around this same time of the afternoon I imagine, she was sitting with her older brother and several other children at tea. They'd all been sent away to the countryside by their parents, and ended up assigned to an estate, rather like this one." He paused, considering. "It may have _been_ this one, for all I know," he realized with a bit of a start. "In any case, one of the other children said something cruel about all of London being dead but them, and she began to cry, very upset. Her brother rose and led her away from the table, off into the bushes where she could collect herself. He was somewhat older than she, an aficionado of the theatre, apparently, and had a great liking for the actor and playwright Arthur Wing Pinero. That man had said something, he told her in the bushes, that got him through the nights when, he, too, worried that they would never see their parents again. He shared those words with her, and from that moment they became her personal rallying cry for times of trouble and darkness."

"…What was it?" Dick asked when the older man went silent.

"Merely waiting for you to inquire, young sir," Alfred smiled, then raised his cup of tea. "What Mr. Pinero said," he informed him, "was that while there is tea, there is hope."

_Huh. _"…And do you believe that? Honestly?"

"Three weeks ago I would not have believed that I would ever again find myself sitting on a veranda and indulging in our little ritual," he disclosed. "And yet, here we are, are we not?"

"Mm." They were quiet for a long time. "It's a good saying," Dick said finally. "But I have a question."

"And what is that?"

"How much tea do we have?"

It was a half-jesting inquiry, and it aroused both anguish and joy in the butler. "This is England, my boy," he answered firmly. "We'll never run out."


	4. The Changing of the Guard

**Author's Note: I wrote this for AJCrane, who's been having some issues with the vehicle through which their muse expresses itself. Happy reading!**

Dick bounded into the kitchen eagerly. "Alfred? Can we have jasmine tea again today?" he asked as he slid a stop beside the butler. Seeing what he was doing – or rather, what he was _not_ doing - the boy frowned. "…Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Dick?" he asked distractedly as he chopped carrots a bit more viciously than normal.

"Are we not having tea today?"

"Pardon me?" The Englishman looked over at him finally, noted his puzzled expression, and glanced at the clock. "Oh, my. I completely lost track of the time. My apologies, young sir. Of course we can have our tea, just allow me to finish with this."

"It's okay," the eleven year old shrugged. "…Can we have the jasmine again today?" he repeated his earlier question. "Please? It was so good."

Alfred nearly winced at the inquiry. He'd ordered a sampler kit of a dozen rare teas from his distributor several months back, and had been working the finer blends into their normal tea schedule. Yesterday he had brewed up a fragrant pot of 'Emperor's Jasmine,' a first for them both. They'd been so enamored with it that they had drawn out their teatime to share a second pot. Only as he was washing out their cups and cleaning up had he realized that the jasmine sample had been smaller than the others; two pots had exhausted their supply. He'd made the long distance call to England early that morning, intent on ordering as much of the stuff as possible, regardless of cost, only to receive some very bad news.

"I'm afraid we're out of it," he explained gently. "Otherwise I would be delighted to have it again."

"…Can we order some more?"

"I tried, Master Dick. They have no more."

"None?!" His eyes were wide. "But you said your distributor can get anything!"

"Indeed I did," he nodded. "But that is no longer the case." He brought his knife down hard, and a piece of carrot pinged off of the cutting board. Dick reacted automatically, ducking to safety as the chunk whizzed through the spot his head had occupied a moment earlier. He giggled for a moment at his close call, then looked up and saw Alfred's face.

"…Alfred? You look really sad," he said, shuffling nearer as he straightened. "How come? I mean, the jasmine tea was really good, but I think you might be…you know…overreacting a little."

"It's not just the jasmine, young sir," the butler sighed. "I was informed this morning that the entire company is going out of business." He set his knife down. "Forgive me for nearly hitting you with that carrot a moment ago. I must admit that I'm a bit distraught over the news."

"So let's make you traught again," Dick said gravely, grabbing his hand and pulling him over to their little table. So many times since he'd come here he'd been made to feel better when they were sipping tea in their corner, and he had no doubt that the spot would work its magic and do the same for Alfred today. "I'll make the tea. You tell me about your distributor, and why you're sad." He was already bouncing back to the stove, checking the water level in the kettle before he turned the burner on.

The butler sighed, watching him carefully. He seemed to know what he was doing, however, so he let him be and took his seat. _He's seen me do it frequently enough, I'm sure he picked up on the basic methods, at least. He's so quick, he no doubt had the entire process down after the first week._ Had it been anyone but the boy he would have felt awkward, but since it was he, there was no discomfort in allowing himself to be served this once.

"Aaalfred," the bright voice drew his attention. "You're not talking about why you're sad. You always make _me_ talk things out when I'm sad, so no excuses."

The Englishman gave a little chuckle at that. "So I do," he acknowledged. "Very well, then. My distributor, as you are well aware from my previous tales, has always been able to procure blends from every corner of the tea-growing world. I have never once asked them for something only to be told that it was impossible, until today. My mother," he reminisced, "used to take me to their main store, down on the Strand…she served a noble family, as had her mother, and her mother's mother, back several generations. The teas served in that house were legend, all blended and brewed by my ancestresses. Every one of them bought their teas only from that store. No other would do. The quality simply was not the same…"

"That's really cool," Dick nodded, leaning against the counter while he waited for the kettle. "What else?"

"Oh, my…" There was so much to remember. As a child, the smell of the store had been heavenly, a trip around the world brought into one place. The entire globe filled his lungs as he listened to the magical language that rolled off the tongues of the salespeople. Lapsang souchong, keemun, rooibos…strange words that had tickled his ears in a way nothing he'd heard in his native language did. Tins and glass jars and wooden sliding bins, each meticulously labeled in an antique scrawl, lined the walls from the floor nearly to the ceiling, just waiting to be opened so that the delicate leaves inside could be scooped, weighed, sold, and sent off to be enjoyed by people who could barely imagine the strange frontiers from whence their beverage had traveled. He described it all wistfully, carried back until he would have sworn that there were rough planks beneath his shoes rather than smooth hardwood. "…I wish you could have seen it, my boy," he breathed as he finished. "You would have loved it."

"It sounds amazing." He spoke beside him, and Alfred opened his eyes to find him carefully setting down their usual tea tray. "I made King of Silver Needles," he explained, taking his seat across from him. "Since I know you like white tea." He bit his lip in concentration as he carefully poured out the first cup. "I hope I made it right."

"I'm sure you did beautifully," the butler smiled softly as he accepted the drink. Raising it, he inhaled, and was impressed. "You seem to have steeped it expertly, young sir," he complimented.

The boy had filled his own cup, but it sat neglectedly in front of him. "Tell me more?" he asked, leaning forward. "Please?"

"…My first employment was there," Alfred went on quietly. "I started in the back room, moving boxes and tea chests and refilling the sales bins at night. I had learned to blend at my mother's elbow, but I did not sense the true intricacies, the delicate differences between each variety, until I saw them all in one place and had to tell them apart at a glance. I was finally promoted to the front some six months before I finished school. I thought I would be happy to sell tea forever, giving advice on mixtures and meeting true aficionados who arrived to pick up special orders…" he trailed off.

"So why didn't you? Sell tea forever, I mean?"

"Other things called," the Englishman replied vaguely. "You'll understand some day, Master Dick. Young men are frequently pulled away from the things they love the most, the things they need the most. They come back eventually – most do, at least – but it can be a very long road home."

"…Pulled away?" his forehead creased as he tried to understand.

"Summoned by a need for freedom," Alfred attempted to explain. "A desire to be independent, one's own person. A wish to not feel tied down."

"But you loved tea! You still love tea."

"As I said, young sir, I circled back around eventually. You will no doubt do the same thing," he voiced contemplatively. "You will strike out for yourself, and find your own path back to the people and places you cherish." _May the day you set out on that journey be far from now,_ he prayed, considering the boy across from him. _And I can only hope that you will return swiftly. _

"To make a long story short, I left for other adventures. Eventually I found myself here, in this house. Master Wayne's dear mother was a lover of fine teas, I was pleased to learn soon after my arrival. I had the knowledge to blend, but I needed the supplies, and when it came time to secure them I did what my family has done for many generations and returned to our reliable source. I will never forget the first time I served her one of my mixtures…she was quite pleased, and after that refused to allow anything other than my concoctions to be drunk under her roof. I made savory, elegant creations with leaves purchased from that store, the place where my education in tea began. The first pot that you and I shared came from that particular merchant, as has every cup I've offered you since. As for today's…" Having given his cup time to cool, he lifted it to his lips and sipped. A delighted smile creased his mouth and rose into his eyes. "Well, suffice it to say that you've learned well, Master Dick. The tea is lovely. Thank you."

"I made it right?" he asked anxiously.

"Taste it for yourself."

"…It tastes like when you make it," he grinned.

"Exactly."

"So…they're closing down now?"

"Yes, they are. I didn't ask why, I was too shaken to do so. The thought of that store being boarded up, after two centuries in business…it's difficult." _So much history, so much potential, gone. And you never had the chance to see it…I'd so hoped to take you someday. _

Arms wrapped around his waist unexpectedly as Dick nudged up underneath of his elbow. "I'm sorry your tea seller is going out of business, Alfred," he said, resting his head on his shoulder. "It's sad, because it was such an important place to you."

"Yes," the butler agreed, setting his cup down carefully and returning the embrace. "You are correct. It was an important piece of my family history."

"…What're we going to do for tea now?"

"Well, I suppose we'll have to find another supplier, won't we?" He'd known that was the answer all along, of course – it wasn't as if he was going to stop drinking tea because the middleman he was used to was no longer selling – but what he'd _wanted_ was for someone to lend a little comfort in his moment of distress. _Trust the boy to sense that,_ he sighed, allowing his cheek to rest against ebony hair for just a moment.

"Yeah. But…" he pulled away slightly and met the man's eyes. "At least we get to do it together, right?"

The loss still ached, but with those words Alfred found some solace to take from it. He smiled. "Indeed, young sir. We shall make it an adventure."


	5. Three Cups

"…This sucks," Dick said hoarsely, pouting.

"Oh, come now, young sir," Alfred tried to buck him up. "It could be worse."

"Yeah," the teen smirked tiredly. "Can you imagine if Bruce was here?"

"As I said, Master Dick, it could be worse." He barely suppressed a cringe as he thought back to the last time inclement weather of the sort they'd experienced over the past week had forced the region to a standstill. It had been several years before the boy had come into their lives, and the billionaire had been utterly miserable. The sheer violence of that storm had forced even Batman to lie low, and Bruce had spent three days stomping through the manor with a glare plastered on his face, displeased by any and every thing that wasn't a cessation of the war he seemed to think nature was waging solely against him. "…_Far_ worse."

"Mmph. It still-" he coughed hard, barely getting his hand up in time to cover his mouth, "-sucks, though. No power, no heat, no _anything_."

"Yes," he nodded in commiseration. What was originally predicted to be a simple series of squalls had morphed into a winter hurricane that made landfall just as a huge cold front swept down from the north. As a result of the two systems meeting, freezing rains and cruel amounts of snow had fallen on the city, burying it alive. Attempts had been made to keep the roads clear, but as soon as the precipitation stopped the winds began in earnest, blowing snowplows and emergency vehicles off of the already treacherous byways. Citizens were advised to stay where they were, and makeshift shelters were opened for the homeless and others in need of assistance, but with nothing moving in the city many of the mass care facilities were low on supplies by the end of the second day. Gotham was declared a disaster zone at every possible level. The National Guard managed to get a few loads of necessary goods in before the mercury plummeted and froze everything in place, but it wasn't much, and until the weather improved there was little more that could be done.

With Bruce in Paris and Brussels for a series of important meetings regarding Wayne Enterprises' Eurozone projects, Dick had taken the initiative. Robin appeared in every sector of town during the first two days of the cataclysm, helping people find their way to safety, assisting with the inevitable vehicle collisions, and lending a hand wherever he found it needed. To his relief, the local criminal elements were just as cold-cocked by the storm as its law-abiding residents; conditions were so bad that even basic looting was more trouble than it was worth. When he'd finally ridden back into the cave some forty eight hours after departing, his motorcycle had been coated with ice, and he himself had been unsuccessfully attempting to suppress violent shivers after spending four times longer than usual trying to navigate the dangerous route home.

He'd been ushered directly into bed, of course, but had woken a few hours later with a monstrous cold. Determined to get back out and continue rendering aid – he'd only come back in order to call the Watchtower for assistance – he ignored Alfred's command that he rest and slipped down into the secret part of the house. Coughing violently and aching with fever, he managed to give Superman the basics of the situation and secure a promise that a team of more weather-resistant heroes would be dispatched. Halfway back up the stairs, he'd had to sit down, completely drained of energy, and had promptly passed out.

He awakened to find himself stretched out on one of the den couches before a roaring fire, a pissed but highly concerned butler at his side. "Wha…?" he'd had exactly enough strength to ask.

"The heat and electricity have been out since about the time of your ill-advised foray to the cave," Alfred informed him, mopping at his overheated face and neck with a mercifully cool cloth. "I've reduced the generator power as far as I can in order to conserve fuel, just in case a larger emergency occurs. They're running the basic security and communications systems, but that is all. Superman stopped by yesterday evening to see how you were; apparently the advanced state of your illness was evident through the telephone. Do you recall him telling you to return to bed immediately when you spoke with him?"

"…Dunno…"

"Well, according to him he did, and in reply you said that your bed would still be there when spring came and that in the meantime you intended to do your job."

"…uh-huh…'s true…gotta…" He tried to sit up, but failed. "…Alfred?" he fell back and stared up at the ceiling.

"Yes, Master Dick?"

"…What happened?" He blinked blankly, having completely forgotten everything he'd just been told.

"Oh, good lord," the beleaguered Englishman sighed, shaking his head as he administered a dose of sleeping serum. "Close your eyes, young sir. You're absolutely out of it."

This morning he'd come to with a bit of clarity, and Alfred had consented to explain everything again. According to the butler his fever had broken several hours earlier, but the teen still felt awful, every muscle whining, his head clogged with substances he didn't want to think about, his lungs righteously trying to evacuate his body every time he coughed. His physical ailments plus the fact that Bruce was nowhere nearby to help him feel better had drawn out his two-word declaration on the state of things, and now he was merely waiting for the Englishman's inevitable rebuttal regarding the use of such negative language. _He let me get away with it the first time, but there's no way he'll let a repeat slide,_ he thought groggily.

No lecture was forthcoming, however. _I must agree with him that this is far from an ideal circumstance,_ Alfred concurred silently. Upon realizing that the power and heat were not likely to come back on for some time, the butler had immediately begun taking measures to defend at least some portion of the manor from the encroaching subzero temperatures. He'd decided on this room not only for its proximity to the secret entrance to the cave but also because it boasted the second largest fireplace in the house. After swiftly preparing their temporary quarters, he'd gone to retrieve Dick, only to find him out of bed. It hadn't taken much thought to determine where he'd gone, although finding him unconscious mid-way up the stairs had given him a moment of real panic. For all that his younger charge still retained the small, lithe build of his childhood, he'd been pure dead weight, and only outright dedication had allowed the older man to get him successfully to the couch he now rested on. "Well, Master Dick," he allowed slowly, "I don't see how I can blame you for feeling as you do about the situation we've found ourselves in. But I believe I have an idea that may raise your spirits some."

"…What's that?" he sniffled.

"It's now roughly three o'clock," he observed, glancing at his pocket watch. "If you feel up for it, there's no reason we can't have our tea."

"…Do you have a kettle that can go right on the fire? I didn't think the fireplaces were set up for cooking."

"They aren't, but fortunately I have a bit of experience with open flame cooking. I'll simply rake out some coals, and we should be able to proceed from there." He moved to the back of the room as he spoke and picked out several items from the boxes he'd carted in. "Here we are," he returned, pouring two bottles of water into an old iron kettle that Dick had never seen before.

"…Where did _that_ come from?" he asked.

"This? Oh, I found this many, many years ago at a street market in San Francisco. It's Japanese, based on the mark. I've spent more than one evening with no company other than this little pot and a small bed of coals…" he said, sounding a bit nostalgic.

"Back in the good old days?" Dick smirked, wincing slightly when the motion put fresh pressure on his sinuses.

"I don't know that I'd call themall _good _days, young sir…but certainly interesting ones," he smiled secretively, placing the antique on the fire and moving to a side table to prepare their cups.

"…Are you _ever_ going to tell me any of these awesome secret agent stories you always hint at?"

"If the files involved are ever declassified and doing so is no longer considered an act of treason against Her Majesty's government, I assure you that you will be the first person I share those particular tales with, Master Dick."

"…Really? I get dibs over Bruce?"

"While I'm sure Master Wayne would be interested, he has never shown quite the same fascination with my life before the manor as you have. I've always imagined that to be due to the fact that I have been present in his life for as long as he can remember. As such, even though he is well aware that I lived in other places and…shall we say performed other services before being employed by his family, knowledge about that time in my life is relatively unimportant to him in the grand scheme of things."

"…Do you think…" he trailed off in the middle of a question, struggling to sit up.

"You really ought not to rise, young sir," Alfred swept over. "Your fever has lessened, but you're still unwell. You need to rest."

"I just want to sit. Besides, I can't drink my tea laying down." He grinned wickedly. "Unless you want me to use a straw or something."

A muscle beneath the man's left eye twitched once at that suggestion. "…At least allow me to assist you, then," he insisted, slipping an arm beneath his charge's shoulders and lifting. "…Comfortable?" he inquired once the teen was reclining against the back of the sofa.

"Yeah," he mumbled, closing his eyes. It felt good to sit and stretch the parts of his body that hadn't moved during the worst of his illness, but his head was spinning. _Can't let Alfred know about that, though, he'll make me lay down again._ _ Probably give me another freaking sedative, too…_

"…Very well, then," the Englishman said disbelievingly before stepping away to tend to the whistling kettle. _He's still a bit warm,_ he fretted silently as he poured the boiling water into their cups – he'd seen no reason to pack a separate serving pot, not when they were going to be eating their meals off of paper plates in any case – and placed a small stack of crackers on a napkin. _And that blasted cough,_ he grimaced as the boy behind him gave a harsh bark. "I'll just set your tea to the side to cool, Master Dick," he intoned as he did exactly that.

"…Thanks, Alfred."

"Of course." Leaving his own serving where he'd poured it, he moved to the back of the room again. "Would you be so kind as to place this under your tongue for a moment?" he asked, returning with a thermometer.

"Huh?" He cracked an eyelid. "Oh. Okay." He drifted for several minutes before he felt the instrument being gently removed from between his lips. "Howzit?"

"One hundred," he reported, eyebrows knitting slightly.

"So much for my fever breaking, huh?"

"It's still lower than it was. I believe you peaked at around one hundred and four."

_Oof. No wonder I feel like crap. I'm sure that's exactly what you wanted to deal with in the middle of everything else._ _You were probably worried half to death, I know how you get when I have a fever… _"Sorry," he apologized. "I wasn't trying to add to the inconveniences or anything."

"I know you weren't," the butler said quietly, tucking the blankets in about the boy's shoulders more securely. "And I'm sure Robin's presence in Gotham saved a number of people from injury or death in this storm. I am naturally unhappy that you came home ill, but that emotion stems solely from my concern for your well-being. The necessity of caring for you during your sickness is far from a burden, I assure you. To be completely honest," he confessed, "I would not want to be anywhere else at the moment, given the situation."

Dick turned his head and gave him a mildly glazed look. "Well yeah, you wouldn't trust anyone else to take care of me when help is more or less out of reach," he teased. "Bruce, either."

"Quite right," he nodded. "And with good reason. Now," he advised, "your tea should be cool enough. I think you'll find it helps clear your head a bit."

"That would be amazing," the teen sighed. Lifting his cup and sipping, his face grew curious. "…Have you made this before? I mean, I can't really taste very well right now, but I don't recognize it."

"I don't recall ever having made it for you, young sir."

"What is it?"

"Green tea with a little peppermint oil and honey. It works wonders at clearing out the sinuses, and the mint and honey may help your other symptoms, as well." _I'd like it clear out your lungs,_ he didn't say. _Your breathing last night seemed quite labored at times…_

"Mmm…it's good. I like the peppermint."

"Do you think you can manage a few crackers?" the butler encouraged as he picked up his own tea and sat at the other end of the couch. _You need to eat something. You've gone at least two days now with nothing, and God only knows what or even if you ate while you were running all over the city in the midst of the tempest._

"…I_ am_ hungry," he conceded, reaching for the small stack at his elbow. They sat wordlessly, listening to the fire crackle and pop, each reflecting back on previous occasions when they had found themselves before flames with a warm drink in their hands. Dick felt his headache begin to ebb away as the pressure that spread from the bridge of his nose to beneath his eyes eased. He was warm, he could breathe again, and Alfred was here; had Bruce been present and Gotham not buried under feet of ice, he would have felt that he was living a charmed moment. As it was, though, it was enough. Bruce was safely in Europe, and the city would shrug off her winter coat before too long. He could live with that. _And Alfred wouldn't let me off of the couch to try and do anything about it if I __couldn't__ live with it,_ he griped to himself.

"Would you like a second cup?" the Englishman stirred himself out of his reveries to ask.

"Huh? Oh. Yes, please," he handed over his empty cup. While Alfred poured, he sat up straighter, feeling slightly more functional now that his face wasn't weighted down with mucus. "So…I was going to ask you a question, before," he commented.

"Oh? What was it?"

"Well…you said Bruce has never really seemed all that interested in your, uh, pre-Manor life."

"That is correct, young sir. He has not. Here," he passed him his beverage. "This round should be much stronger."

"Awesome. Thanks." He sipped. "Wow, you weren't kidding. It was good before, but this…this is amazing." Another drink, then he continued. "Anyway, I was thinking that maybe the reason I'm so obsessed with what you did before butlering is because you and I both remember a time before we came here. It's kind of a parallel thing to what Bruce and I have in terms of our parents, I think." His voice dropped slightly. "No one else gets how I feel about what happened to them the way he does. And he understands the there/not there divide that came with their deaths. But even though he's right there with me on that, what he can't really grasp is the sense of this…this previous life that you lived, but you can never go back to.

"Everything changes when something like that happens to you, but at the same time, _nothing_ changed for him except losing his parents. But…I lost my entire _life_, not just mom and dad. I crossed the threshold into this house, and at the time it just seemed like a new chapter, but now…I don't know. I look back on it, and I sometimes have trouble believing that I'm the same person who spent those years in the circus. It feels like this is how I've always lived, you know? And I guess it seems like maybe you have that sense, too, when you think back to the things you did before you were in Gotham." He looked over at him. "…Do you? Do you feel like that?"

Alfred was a little stunned. "I do, Master Dick," he confided. "As you said, it wasn't so strange for the first little while; I had been other places, and done other things," he smiled at the slightly disappointed look on the teen's face when that was all the detail he gave, "but those activities were recent enough that in the beginning it seemed like I was merely taking a strange holiday. I knew, of course, that I couldn't go back to what I'd done before – no, I won't explain why, at least not now – but it hadn't really sunk in, I suppose. I fell into the routines here, and found myself enjoying them. For a while I rarely thought about the time before, and when I did, it was only in passing. And then one day something triggered all of those memories. It was wonderful to go through them, to revisit moments that I hadn't recalled in…oh, in years, by that point…but it wasn't quite _right_. As you said, I felt removed, as if I were an outsider looking in."

"It's like watching a movie that you've seen a thousand times before," Dick mused, relieved that he wasn't the only one who occasionally felt separated from parts of his past. "You know all the nuances, and how it's going to end, but no matter how much you lose yourself in it, you still come out of it feeling like you've watched someone else acting out the part you know was written for you. It's really weird, Alfred. It bugs me."

"Yes, it can be a bit disturbing."

"How do you fight that? I…I'm afraid of losing touch with those memories. I've only been here six years – less than half of my life – but so much has happened, and so many things are different, that I sometimes feel like I'm not that kid on the trapeze, and that I never was. That there's no way I could have been. I know that's not the case, of course, but…shouldn't I be able to hold on better than that? I shouldn't feel like an outsider in my own story, should I?"

"I'm afraid it's one of the lesser-known dangers of living the type of life that you do, my boy," the butler remarked, "and the type of life that I once did. You do so much, and so many of the things you are involved in are extraordinary, that it feels as if you have lived longer than you really have sometimes. Your life is very, very full, and once you become used to living at that pace it can be difficult to recall what it was like at a slower speed. It's part of the reason you and Master Wayne are both so restless when you're sick or injured. The same is true in reverse; even having once lived at such a rate, I look back on the period of my life before coming here and wonder how that could have been me. Age has a fair bit to do with it, too, I imagine, especially given the period of your life that you are most concerned with. It can't be helped, though, not really; your frame of reference has completely changed. If you are someday convinced to hang up your mask and return to a more normal clip, you may find that you are better able to picture yourself living your first life. At the same time, though, your memories of this time will become film-like, to use your descriptor. It's difficult, Master Dick, I won't lie, but I've not yet found a way of helping it. It is one of those things that simply must be endured."

"…Now _that_ sucks."

"Yes, it most certainly does," the corners of his lips quirked upwards.

"What I don't get, though, is why you say your life is less crazy now than it was during your James Bond period. You do _everything _around here!"

"My 'James Bond' period?" the Englishman chuckled. "I will toe the line exactly enough to assure you that those films are somewhat exaggerated."

"…So I'm not wrong in my comparison, that's what you're telling me?" His eyes were sparkling as he gave his companion a sly look.

Glancing over at him, the butler was so happy to see him in better spirits and seemingly better health that he couldn't help but give up a little something. "Suffice it to say that I have an exceedingly large file somewhere in MI6's records, and I'm sure that not even that very detailed set of documents covers everything."

A broad, happy grin spread across his face. "I freaking _called _it! See, I knew there was a reason Bruce keeps you around besides dusting and suturing," he jested.

"Quite," Alfred replied drily, returning his smile. "And to answer your question, you can take my word that running this household, managing Master Wayne's social engagements, and covering up his…hobbies…is quite a fast enough pace for someone of my age. There are fewer explosions and less gunfire in my current position, to be sure, but the intrigue and the politics are as complex as any I've ever experienced. I always preferred the strategic side of things, in any case," he added.

"And then Bruce went and dropped a kid in the middle of it," Dick said wryly. "As if you weren't busy enough."

Finishing his tea, he caught the boy's eyes. "Your arrival may have necessitated a quickening of my step," he said gravely, "but it also put a long-before lost spring back into it." They held each other's gaze for a moment, each reflecting on the value they placed on the other and finding it immeasurable. "…A third round? I believe that will finish the pot."

"That would be great. This stuff works miracles, you know." He coughed suddenly, doubling over as Alfred quickly took his cup. "The rest of me is still falling apart," he half-joked, "but at least my head is clear."

"Are you all right? That sounded rather painful."

"Nah, I'm good now." As the last word left his mouth he fell into another bout of harsh exhalations, dry, wicked gusts that tore through his already ravaged throat. He felt his stomach heave as the spell went on and on, and barely held back his bile. It ceased finally, leaving him to gasp as the butler gripped his shoulder. "…Fun times," he managed, keeping one hand pressed against the tightness in his chest.

"The mint should have helped with your cough as well as your head," the Englishman said dourly.

"Well, my head was pretty ugly. It probably needed two cups worth. Maybe this last one will get everything else."

"…I'll add a little extra, regardless." He did so swiftly, returning to his now somewhat pallid charge with an extremely fragrant serving. "Here. It's rather bitter at this point, be prepared for that."

"Thanks." Hunching forward, he drank slowly, feeling an additional blanket being draped over his back. As he'd been warned, the liquid was difficult to palate, but even just breathing in the steam loosened the heaviness in his lungs. _Wow, how much extra did he put in this? It's like drinking toothpaste._ He persevered, though, relaxing against the back of the couch again as his pain lessened. The crackle from the fireplace keeping this part of the house habitable lulled him, calming his mind as the tea relaxed his body.

Alfred had seated himself a bit closer this time, just in case he went into another fit, and his eyes moved between the flames and the sick teenager, his fingers tight around his cup as he watched him. _He's getting drowsy again,_ he noted, observing the droop of his eyelids. _As well he ought to, poor child._ Reaching over, he removed the nearly-empty cup from Dick's hands before his slack fingers lost their hold on it. "Hush, young sir," he soothed as the boy started. "There's no problem. Here, let's get you lying down again, shall we?"

"…Oh. Okay…" He made no protest as he was maneuvered back into the position he'd woken up in, thick pillows at his back, warm fire at his front. Another spell gripped him unexpectedly, but it was far less agonizing than the previous ones. Taking the tissues he was offered, he caught what seemed like gallons of phlegm, feeling his stomach turn when he made the mistake of looking down to find a small amount of blood mixed in. "Ugh…" Shortly thereafter, the spasms calmed, and he watched gratefully as Alfred disposed of the used papers.

_Thank god that extra mint seems to have worked, _the butler thought as he fed the soiled sheets into the flames. _He likely would have woken up with pneumonia had he been unable to expel what he did. _They could have dealt with it, had it occurred, but the last thing he wanted to do was move the boy down into the cave. Drafty as that space was at the best of times, he could well imagine what it was like with the current outdoor temperatures. _Well, it's not worth worrying about for the moment,_ he told himself firmly. _He cleared out a great deal just now, and once he gets a bit more rest he should be fine. Just fine._ Finished with the garbage, he returned to the couch and rested the back of his hand on the pale forehead.

"…Alfred?"

"Yes, young sir?" he straightened the blankets slightly, unable to suppress a smile when the foot he had just covered kicked weakly free.

"I feel a lot better now. Just…wanted you to know that."

"I am very glad to hear it. Now, go to sleep," he ordered, "and when you wake up I'll cook a little broth. If you're feeling up to it I'll even add noodles. All right?"

"That sounds good…g'night, Alfred…"

"Good night, Master Dick," he whispered back, hovering until he heard his breathing even out into sleep. Carrying the few things they'd used across the freezing hallway to rinse them in the bathroom sink, he paused, listening to the silence. _There's no more wind,_ _or at least none like there was earlier,_ he realized. Moving to the nearest window, he peered outside. The air still looked frosty, but the trees were still, and the sun was beginning to put a melt-water shine on everything it touched. _So the storm has passed._ _And before long, no doubt, it will be difficult to recall what it truly felt like to live in it…but such is the way of things._

Ending his moment of philosophizing, he straightened his shoulders. _Well. Every storm brings an aftermath to be cleaned up, and I suppose there's no harm in getting started with these cups. He may want more tea when he wakes, after all, and I only brought these two from the kitchen._ With that in mind, he proceeded to his task, humming as he felt the latest curve in their lives fall behind them, successfully navigated.

**Author's Note: I love Moroccan mint tea, and that is what the blend in this story is based off of. About midway through writing, I read this Algerian proverb about tea, which inspired me to make it a three-cup story and also gave me the title:**

**The first glass is as gentle as life,  
the second glass is as strong as love,  
the third glass is as bitter as death.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	6. The Poetry of Fine Sentiments

**Author's Note: This story was inspired by a quote from Emerson that reads "There is a great deal of sentiment and fine poetry in a chest of tea." Hopefully there's a little of both in this story, as well. Happy reading! **

"Bruce," Tim moaned, fanning himself uselessly with his hands. "_Why_ did we come to Hong Kong in _July_?"

"Heat and humidity acclimatization," Dick answered with a smirk. "You know how this works, Timmy; if something can be turned into training, Bruce will make sure that it is." The last three months had been blissful for the first Robin, wandering the globe and undergoing intensive skills sharpening with two of his favorite people. When he added in the fact that a mere half a year ago he'd still believed his surrogate father to be deceased and had been more-or-less estranged from his younger brother, it felt like he'd died and gone to some strange vigilante Valhalla. The heavy air in their current location seemed to tax his lungs less when he considered how lucky they were just to be breathing it together. Sentimentality wasn't likely to help his copiously perspiring sibling, however, so out of pity he began to flap at him with one of his own hands.

"…You make me sound like a monster for bringing you here," the billionaire commented.

"Nah. We know you only torture us because you love us. Don't we?" he nudged Tim.

"…Yes," he replied grudgingly. "Couldn't we have gone to Siberia this month? Didn't you say there was something you wanted to do there?"

"He's saving that for January," Dick quipped. "Cold and dry. We have to cover the whole spectrum of physical misery before we go home, otherwise it isn't a Bruce vacation."

"…Bruce, tell me he's full of shit."

"He's full of shit."

"Oh, thank god…"

"We're going in December." Exchanging an amused glance with his eldest as Tim groaned, the billionaire ducked into a stall suddenly, leaving them to be jostled in the crowded street. "…Here," he emerged a few minutes later, handing them each a small fan as he opened one of his own.

"…Love how yours is bigger," Dick observed, laughing. "So much for the 'macho man who can handle any temperature Mother Nature throws at him' act."

"I'm a bigger person than either of you. There's more of me to keep cool," was countered.

"Bullshit," the younger males said simultaneously.

"…Yes, it is," he admitted. "But I still have the larger fan, and this is _not_ a good location for either or both of you to try and take it from me. So…"

"So we're stuck melting," Tim sighed miserably. Graciously, Dick turned his fan onto the back of his neck. "Thanks." He paused. "…How is it possible that that's only making me _hotter_?"

"Ah…magic? I can stop."

"No, don't, it's better than nothing. At least the air's _moving_ this way…"

They wove through a warren of narrow, packed streets, stopping whenever one of them wanted to look more closely at something. "Ooh, do you smell that?" Dick asked suddenly, inhaling deeply.

"…I smell city. It isn't pleasant," Bruce raised an eyebrow at him.

"…Yeah, Dick, I think you might have heatstroke. You don't smell toast, do you?" Tim joked.

"That's a _regular_ stroke," he answered distractedly. "And no. I smell tea."

"…You want hot tea on a day like this?" the third Robin was taken aback enough to stop fanning himself and cross his arms.

"Hot drinks help you cool down. And I'm thinking about buying dry tea, not steeped. What time is it?" He glanced at his watch. "Oh. Three thirty. That makes sense." A long habit of taking tea in the afternoon had conditioned a mild craving in him if the proper hour passed without the infusion, and he chalked that up as the reason he'd been able to detect the substance in the heady mélange of smells that surrounded them.

"Haven't you had enough tea in the last three months?" Bruce asked.

"I know I have," Tim threw in.

"You two have no taste," he said, looking around for the source of the vague whiff that had caught his attention. _How can you ever have enough tea, seriously? _"Aha! Over there!" He started towards a ground level shop with the door propped open, a sign reading 'Fine Teas' in both English and Cantonese plastered over the entrance. "…You guys coming?" he inquired, returning after a couple of steps when neither of them moved.

"…Bruce, I think I see a Starbucks sign up ahead."

The billionaire peered down the street. "You do. Why?"

"Air conditioning." He glanced at his brother. "Sorry, Dick. It's just too hot."

Bruce's eyebrow went up in interest. "…Agreed. Meet us down there when you're done, Dick," he instructed.

"This place could have air conditioning!" he objected.

"Then why is their front door open? Are they trying to reverse global warming single handedly?" Tim pointed out as he trailed away after their mentor.

"…Good point," he allowed with a huff. While he understood the desire of the other two to escape to a cooler clime, it stung that they were so quick to abandon him. _Bruce and I wouldn't just up and leave Tim standing in the middle of the street,_ he thought as he watched them move down the road. _…Of course that's primarily because he doesn't speak anything that isn't English or math, but still. That doesn't even matter here, most people know enough English that he could manage. And besides, I went with them into __their__ shops…If Alfred were here, he'd go with me. Hell, I could probably even get Damian inside if I really tried…well, fine then, let them go sit in their boring old air conditioning. I'm going tea shopping._

Ducking into the shadowy den, his nose was immediately assaulted by a million scents, all clamoring for his attention. _Oh my god, Alfred's head would explode if he came in here,_ he thought, his eyes widening joyfully as they swept the room. His fingers tripped over dusty crates stamped with names he'd never heard before despite years of listening to the Englishman describe a thousand different varietals. _I didn't even know they still shipped tea in boxes like this. I wonder if it still comes in chests…? He'd __love__ that._ The decision settled in his mind. _I have to get him some._ "Excuse me," he approached the middle-aged woman behind the counter. "I'm looking for something special. Ah…" he flushed slightly as she regarded him. "But I don't know what it is. It's for a friend."

"What kind of tea does your friend like?" she inquired.

"Hmm...he's a big fan of white teas."

"It's hot out. Would you want something summery?"

"Umm…I guess it depends on when it will get there. It has to go to the US." He hesitated. "…Do you ship overseas?" he asked. _Please say yes, I don't want to have to lug this to the post office._

"We can. It's expensive, though."

"I don't mind. How long does it normally take?"

"That's up to you. The faster, the pricier."

"…Okay. Yes, something summery, then. With oranges?" he requested, struck by an idea. Tea and clementines on the back veranda was a treasured ritual that he and Alfred had partaken in on more summer afternoons than he could count, and if he knew the butler at all, combining the flavor of oranges with a good white blend was sure to bring a smile to his face. "Do you have something like that?"

"Ah, I have just the thing," she raised a finger triumphantly and signaled for him to wait. While she was in the back, he continued his sojourn around the shop, examining boxes and bags and an entire rack of beautiful serving sets. _I know he has several perfectly good pots, but…_ he considered as he fingered a simple but handsome piece of china. "…Do you like them? My husband makes them in the evenings."

"He _makes_ them?" he asked, surprised, as he turned to find her holding out a steaming cup to him. "Oh. Thank you," he nodded, accepting it. "You really didn't have to do that."

"It's not a cheap tea. You should taste it before you spend that kind of money," she advised, watching as he inhaled the mist that rose from the cup despite the heat of the ambient air. "My husband buys the sets raw and then paints and fires them. But I think he does a nice job."

"They're beautiful," he complimented, sipping. Citrus, cucumber, and a hint of honey cascaded across his tongue, all borne on a subtle woody flavor that rounded out perfectly as he swallowed. _…I have found the perfect tea,_ his eyes rolled delightedly. "…How much of this do you have?" he managed after a moment's repose.

"How much do you want?" she countered, a gleam coming into her eye.

"A lifetime supply," he almost whispered. "Um," he snapped back to reality. "Well…how much is it per pound?"

"Ten thousand dollars."

"…Hong Kong dollars, right?" he verified, gulping. _Jesus. It's good, but…wow. That's…_ He did some rough math in his head. _That's thirteen hundred US dollars a pound._

"Right. One pound of this tea, you could get maybe three or four hundred cups. It depends on how you steep it." She watched him take another sip. "…Are you interested?"

_I will never find a tea like this again, even if I spend the rest of my life looking for it. _"…I'll take three pounds, if you have it."

"You're cleaning me out," she smiled. "You liked the tea sets, too, right?"

"Yes." S_ell me whatever things you want too, lady, I don't care. I just agreed to drop four grand on tea, you could probably push anything short of an elephant off on me right now. _He considered that for a moment. _…Actually, if I knew it wouldn't give Alfred a coronary when it arrived at the manor I'd be willing to take one of those, too._ "They're really nice."

"Pick one," she waved.

"…I'm sorry?"

"You spend thirty thousand dollars in my shop, you get a complimentary tea set," she intoned. "It's a new policy. It's new because no one's ever spent thirty thousand dollars here in one trip."

"Oh…wow. Thank you," he said, bowled over. "That's very kind of you. I'll take this one," he gestured to the pot he'd been tracing the design of a few minutes before.

"…Are you sure? That one only has two matching cups with it. Some lady let her kids run around in here and one of them knocked the other two onto the floor." She shook her head. "The lady didn't even apologize, can you believe it? Anyway, the others all have four cups."

"I…I kind of like that it only has two cups, to be honest," he admitted. _Alfred and I are the only ones who ever sit down for a real tea. We only __need__ two._

"Okay," she shrugged. "Do you want to carry it with you, or should I ship it with the tea?"

"Ship it, please," he moved back to where she was ringing him up. "Umm…one more thing? I know it's probably kind of a strange question, but…I don't suppose you could arrange for it to be shipped in some really ornate-looking chest? Like the kind of thing they used to use on old sailing ships, only small enough just to fit the tea?"

"…I could find something like that for you. It would add a couple of days to the shipping, though. Is that okay?"

"That's fine," he smiled. _I'll have to shoot Alfred a text and let him know to expect a package from me._

"There's going to be customs duties on this, plus the cost of the chest," she reminded him as he filled out a shipping label with the delivery address and contact information. "If you want, I can send a bill with the shipment, and your friend can call with a credit card. We'll count your paying for the tea today as a security for the rest."

"That would be great." _And tell him to give her my card number,_ he added to the mental list.

"Okay…three pounds of Darjeeling white-orange blend, plus shipping to America…thirty three thousand two hundred and eight dollars."

"…Please tell me you can run this," he held out the credit card that was paid off automatically by funds from what had been his trust account until he reached his majority. He used it only for emergencies and moments like this when he simply _had_ to make a large purchase, but it still made him feel guilty every time. No matter how frequently Bruce argued otherwise, he couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't really _his_ money he was spending.

"Visa Black?" she whistled, examining it. "Who _wouldn't_ take it? I do need to see your passport or something, though." When she was satisfied that the man whose name was listed in raised type really was standing in front of her, she ran the card through quickly. "I'm almost afraid it's going to leap out of my hand and run away," she laughed. "Sign this," she pushed the receipt over.

"…We're good, then? When should I tell him to expect it to arrive?"

"Give it ten days. If he doesn't have it in fourteen, have him call me." She scrawled a phone number at the bottom of receipt. "There. And I'll put your tea set in with it, too."

"Thank you," he grinned. "You've just made two people ridiculously happy."

"It's the tea, not me," she answered back. "_You_ just made _me_ ridiculously happy, though."

"No problem," he said a bit cheekily, delighted with what he'd just paid for. "Have a good day!" And with that, he ducked back out into the sweltering street. _…Wow. That was amazing. Alfred's going to adore that tea…god, I want more of it already. Maybe I should go back and have her scoop out a little of it for me to take with me…no, what's the point? I don't have anyone to share it with who will appreciate it. Bruce and Tim are 'sick of tea'…_

In no particular hurry, he let the flow of the crowd push him along, soaking in the energy of the people around him as he moved slowly down the causeway towards the distinct green-and-white sign that could be found in metropolitan areas the world over. _I wonder when we'll head for our next round of training, _he wondered as he walked._ I just hope whoever it's with appreciates things the way Master Iji did…_ They'd spent the first part of their trip at an isolated dojo in northern Japan, where he and the old warrior who kept the place open had bonded over their mutual love of tea. Despite the fact that Master Iji had been one of Bruce's first martial arts teachers, it was Dick he had appeared to be the saddest to see leave at the end of their six weeks there. As parting knowledge, he had advised his young pupil to keep the drink and its ceremony almost as close to hand as his weapons. It was a life tip that had been taken to heart.

…_I guess it's probably not very likely that I'll ever run into someone else like that. He has a passion that surpasses even Alfred, and that's really saying something,_ Dick thought as he reached the entrance to the coffee shop. Sighing, he stepped into the icy blast of full-on air conditioning.

"What took so long?" Bruce asked as he slid into the corner booth they occupied.

"Getting worried?" he parried, knowing that was exactly what the problem was. "Relax. If I can't handle myself in a tea shop, we've got serious issues."

"…Didn't you buy anything?" Tim asked around the straw running from his frappuccino to his mouth.

"I bought plenty, thank you," he muttered, crossing his arms and shivering. "It's _cold_ in here."

"That's half of its charm. What did you buy?" the youngest of the trio asked, trying to sound interested as he sensed that his elder brother was feeling a bit put out.

"Three pounds of the best tea I've ever tasted," he answered.

"Oh. Well…I'm glad you found something."

"Do you know how much space that will take? How are you going to cart that around with you for nine months?" the billionaire gaped.

"I'm not. I had it shipped to Alfred. I bought it for him, not me. Anyway, are you guys ready?"

"You want to _leave_ this refrigerated paradise? I just stopped sweating like five minutes ago. At least let me finish this," Tim requested.

"Bring it with you," Bruce said, rising as his son's answer made something click in his head. "You can finish it while we stand in line for something to drink on the walk back to the hotel." When Tim stepped away a few minutes later to throw out his empty cup, he leaned in towards Dick. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

"Huh? Oh." _Trust Bruce to pick up on it._ "Yeah. I just…" He laughed shortly. "I just miss Alfred, that's all. I hadn't really thought about it until that shop a little bit ago. I know you and Tim don't really get it, our thing with tea, but…"

"I don't have to understand it to know that it's important to you. We could have gone with you before we came down here, but I didn't think."

"You were both hot," he shrugged, his last traces of mild ire fading away. "It's hard to think when you're overheated."

"Mental fatigue from heat and humidity is what I brought the two of you here, now, to try and learn to combat. I thought I had it down long ago, but…" A pleased little smile tilted the corners of his mouth upward. "It looks like you're more of a master of it than I am. There's starting to be a disturbing number of things that's the case for, you know."

"…You don't mind?" he asked a bit fearfully. _I always thought that was part of what got us started fighting before, was that I had gotten…well, better than you at certain things. I don't want to go back to that, Bruce. I __can't__ go back to that. Not after everything that's happened since._

"No," he whispered, staring at him. "Not…not anymore. I'm glad." _If you're better than me, you're less likely to be killed. So…be better than me at __everything__._ "And I'm glad you've always stayed true to _you_, Dick. You never tried to mold yourself in my image, not inside, at least, and I appreciate that. So much." The last person in line in front of them stepped away from the register as Tim rejoined them, and the conversation cut off.

_Huh. _He wasn't sure Bruce had ever come so close to outright telling him that he was proud of the man he'd become after shedding the mantle of Robin. A little dazed, he turned to the harried cashier. "Venti green iced tea, sweetened," he requested before stepping aside to let the others put in their requests. A moment later the billionaire's hand landed on his shoulder, and an approving whisper brushed past his ear.

"That's my boy."


	7. Something Old, Someplace New

A knock on the entrance to his apartment made Dick pause with his arms half-buried in a box. _No one knows I live here,_ his eyes narrowed. _I just moved in yesterday. So…problem?_

Tense but silent, he moved to the door, avoiding the creaks in the floor that he already had memorized. He glanced through the peephole, and his heart suddenly leapt with joy.

"Alfred!" he exclaimed, ripping the barrier open with a broad grin on his face. He hadn't seen the butler in the six months since he had stormed from the manor, enraged by the callous firing of Robin, and right now he was the only person who could have shown up on his threshold and been greeted warmly. "Oh my _god,_ I've missed you!" He wanted to embrace the man, but the large box he held would have made it a rather awkward tango. "Come inside!" he ushered him. His tone suddenly switched. "…You're alone, right?"

Alfred sighed. _Still angry, it appears. I can hardly blame you, considering the circumstances under which you departed home, but I had hoped that perhaps…_ "Yes, young sir. I am alone. And it's lovely to see you, as well."

"Good." Locking the door, he turned to find the box being set carefully on the counter. As soon as its bearer's hands were free, he launched himself forward, insisting on a hug. _Wow. He really missed me,_ he thought guiltily as he was squeezed tight for a long moment. _Alfred hardly ever hugs like this._ "So…you didn't, like, cart a pot roast from Gotham, did you?" he joked as they broke apart. "Because as good as your pot roasts are, that would be a _little_ insane."

"It's not quite a pot roast, no," the butler smiled softly, unable to stop taking in the boy before him. _No,_ he corrected himself harshly, sensing a subtle but definite change in his younger charge that went beyond the more defined jawline and slightly broader bearing than he remembered. _He barely still qualified as a boy when he left, and his break with Master Wayne, as well as whatever has happened to him in the meantime, has finished transforming him into a man. It would be a fallacy to consider anyone who managed to completely evade Batman's search efforts for six months a child. _"…But the box does contain a bit of home, so to speak. Just a few items that I thought you might find useful as you set up house."

"Thanks," he nodded. _How did you know I was here?_ _Damn it, I thought I vanished for long enough. Well…just because Alfred knows doesn't mean that Bruce does. Even if he __does__ know…it's not like he'd care._ His heart pinched, as it had every time he'd thought of the billionaire during the past half year. _Stop. Don't think about that right now. Alfred's here now, let's see what he brought._ "Do you mind if I…?" he gestured at the carton.

"Not at all, young sir. They are your belongings, after all."

"Awesome." He pulled things out one at a time and stacked them on the counter; a few pieces of favored clothing, a couple of books, Elinor the stuffed elephant – he paused to stroke her head for a moment, wondering how he could possibly have left her behind even though he took nothing with him when he left – and then, pillowed on a stack of crumpled newspapers, something he hadn't seen in a decade.

"…Alfred…how?" he gaped, lifting out a pale green teapot with hand-painted trees flowering along its curves. He knew it _had_ to be the same vessel he'd drunk uncountable cups from as a small child, but he checked for the tiny hairline crack in the lid anyway. "This is impossible," he shook his head, real happiness flooding him for the first time in months. "But…" he frowned slightly as he considered the four cups still nestled in the box. "We only had three cups. One was broken on the trip from the US to Europe when I was still a baby. So how…?"

"Perhaps this story would best be told over lapsang souchong," the butler suggested. _I suspected that would be the perfect housewarming gift. How could your own mother's tea set not prove acceptable, after all?_

"Uh…" he blushed deeply. "I don't have any tea. I got the keys to this place maybe thirty-odd hours ago; I haven't had time to go shopping yet."

"Oh, I don't think that will be a problem. If you dig just a bit deeper, you'll find a selection of leaves and a kettle. Just a few little things to get you started," he smiled knowingly.

"You're so cool, Alfred," he beamed, diving back into the box.

Ten minutes later they were seated on folding chairs with a TV tray between them. "So…um…how did you find me?" Dick asked. As much as he wanted to know how he had come back into possession of the beautiful dishes that his mother's hands had once graced, he was more concerned about the fact that it had taken virtually no time for his new residency in Bludhaven to be unearthed. _I haven't even gone out on a patrol yet, and he already knows I'm here. What am I, losing my touch?_

"Once you decided to rejoin society, Master Dick, it wasn't difficult. After all," the Englishman added quietly, "we never stopped looking for you."

"…We?" he whispered uncertainly.

Alfred gave him a hard look. "Foolishness doesn't suit you, young sir. You must know that every effort was made by both myself and Master Wayne to locate you."

"…Oh." He looked away. _I guess I didn't let Bruce finish yelling before I left. I can't figure why else he could have to say to me that he hasn't already. I know it isn't 'sorry' or, hah, 'I love you, come home.' _"I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to you, Alfred. I…I've felt bad about that ever since. I just…if I had tried, I would never have been able to get away, you know? And I had to. I couldn't stay there, not…not after what he did to me. I was never mad at _you, _though."

"I understand," he nodded, sipping his tea.

"…You do?" he asked, surprised. "I figured you'd be ticked at me for leaving."

"I was at first, until Master Wayne informed me of what he'd done. After that I was rather more angry with him than with you. And then, of course, when you failed to come home after an expected amount of time what little ire I still held towards you was eclipsed by worry." He paused. "I do wish you had at least called or sent a text, my boy. Once he realized what he had done…I have only ever seen him so fearful when your very life was in question. He has become haggard with concern and self-hatred these past six months, searching for you."

"So wait," Dick's eyebrows drew together. "…You mean he doesn't know about my being here? In Bludhaven?"

"No. He does not. I only learned of it myself this morning, when my eyes happened upon the list of newly graduated officers from the joint Gotham-Bludhaven Police Academy in the newspaper." He smiled. "…I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by your choices of late, both in terms of your career and where to start it. Nor," he added, "should I be shocked to have read that you were at the top of your class."

"…Yeah, well," he shifted uncomfortably. "…I have experience. It was an unfair advantage. I actually feel pretty awful about smoking everyone the way I did. I thought about throwing it, getting stuff wrong on purpose so someone else would have a chance, but…I couldn't do it. Getting the wrong answer when it wasn't necessary for a ruse has been a life or death matter for so long now that it made me sick to my stomach to try."

"Do not berate yourself for being among the best at what you do," Alfred commanded. "I have long wished that there was some way Batman and R-…yourself," he covered smoothly, "could receive recognition for your work. Police ribbons aren't quite the same thing, but they are as close to the awards you deserve as I am ever likely to see you be given. In any case, once I knew you had taken up with either Gotham or Bludhaven's police force, it was a simple matter of having the right connections to locate your private residence." _What are you calling yourself these days? I'm certain you've not given up your nightlife. You're like him in that you would sooner die than cease fighting for what you believe is right. It's a noble cause, to be sure, but I do hope you have the proper equipment for your work._

Dick just nodded. "So as soon as Bruce sees the papers, the cat's out of the bag. I didn't think about the graduation list…maybe he'll miss it?" he said hopefully. "I don't suppose you could, uh…_arrange_ for that?"

"Even if I could, Master Dick, I would not. He has been running name searches of all local media every evening; he won't miss it. The only reason he didn't see it this morning is that I slipped a sleeping pill into his coffee last night in order to ensure he got more than an hour or two of rest. As a result, he rose late and had no time for the news before he had to leave for work."

_Why am I not surprised to hear that you did that? Although the fact that it was necessary does make me feel a little awful…still, he started all of this crap, and until he figures some things out for himself we're just going to repeat the same cycle. I don't have the heart for that. The only thing worse than not talking to him is fighting with him._ "So I should expect an enraged visitor sometime later today."

"I don't know, to be honest."

_Ouch._ As little as he wanted the same problems to repeat themselves the next time he saw his surrogate father, the thought of the man knowing where he was and opting _not_ to come after him struck to his core. _You promised you would always come for me,_ he bit his lip. _…Was that a lie, too, the same as when you said Batman would always need Robin by his side? _"What…what do you mean?"

"He wants to know that you are safe, and I believe that he's seen the error of his ways to an extent, but you know how he is with guilt; he carries far too much of it, primarily because he hasn't the slightest clue how to resolve any of it. He's never been good at that," he said reminiscently. "…No, young sir, I believe that you may have to make the first move."

"…I don't know if I can do that."

"Do you still bear resentments toward him?" he inquired, looking surprised.

"No. Well…not as much. I was _frustrated_, Alfred, upset by the way he was treating me. He didn't trust me anymore. He used to ask for my opinion on cases, and even if he didn't agree with it and we did something else I at least felt like he had listened and considered my thoughts. That stopped, and he never said why. He…he even stopped smiling," he flicked a tear from his cheek. "I used to be able to make him smile all the time, even when we were in costume. No one else ever saw it, but I know what it looks like when he's barely able to keep himself from grinning because what I just said was _hilarious_ but he doesn't want to crack the façade. That ended, too. My jokes weren't funny any longer, not to him. Not even out of the cowl. I know you saw it, too. Don't deny it."

"I did," the Englishman admitted. "And I stuck my head in the sand, because I couldn't believe that it was happening. I still do not know exactly what caused him to do what he did the night that he fired you; I have my suspicions, of course, but he hasn't come to me about it, or about anything else personal for that matter, these past six months. That in itself is very odd. Perhaps once he knows you are safe he will open up again, but…I harbor a great fear that he will not do so until you are reconciled."

"…I wasn't mad until he fired me. Like I said, I…I was frustrated. He wouldn't explain. He used to explain everything, anything, when I asked." He sniffed. "I don't know what I did wrong, Alfred. I really don't."

"I'm not sure that you did anything wrong. It wouldn't be the first time that he's overreacted, as we both know. Don't blame yourself. Don't become like him in that you carry guilt for things you had little or no control over."

"It's so hard, though, not to. I just…" _I had to have done something. I had to have. Bruce wouldn't just reject me suddenly without a reason. If he would just tell me what the reason __is__..._

"Enough," the butler shook his head. "That's enough of you chastising yourself," he ordered, "and enough of this topic." _As important as this conversation is, I sense that we've reached an impasse,_ he deemed. _The essentials have been laid out, and at this point there is no new information of importance to be shared. There will be later, perhaps, when Master Wayne learns of Master Dick's whereabouts, but for right now we will simply go round in circles if we continue. That is not what I came here for, nor what he needs at the moment. _"You asked how I came to acquire your mother's tea service," he reminded. "It is a short story, but a pleasant one, if you're still curious." _It may pick you spirits up a bit, if nothing else._

"…Yeah," he nodded after a moment. "I _would_ really like to hear about that."

"To be honest, young sir – and I say this to lead into the tale, not to make you feel guiltier yet – tea time has been utterly miserable since your departure. There is an awful stillness in the house that had been banished these past ten years; I had forgotten how gray its presence makes even the most beautiful things in the world seem. The only thing I could think every afternoon as I sat across from your empty chair was that, as sad as my afternoon tea was, I at least had some. I couldn't think of any way in which you could support a decent tea time, leaving as you had with nothing. Master Wayne told me that your accounts showed no withdrawals, so I was forced to rule that out, and after we spoke with the other Titans and determined that you hadn't gone to any of them the only methods I could imagine for one as young as yourself to make money were too grim to be entertained."

Dick bit his tongue, not willing to give up the assistance Clark had extended to him in those first few weeks when he was still trying to figure out what he could do to survive as a then seventeen-year-old college dropout. _Bruce will have his head if he finds out,_ he reminded himself. _Alfred would probably be a safe confidant, but if he was asked directly I don't think he would lie to him. Not about this. This is too big._

"Suffice it to say that I suspected you would resurface sooner or later," the story went on. "Hoping for sooner – forgive me, but I must say that I did miss you _terribly_ – and knowing that you weren't likely to settle back into your old room as if nothing had occurred, I set about ensuring that you would be able to have a proper tea in your own house when that time came. It seemed only natural, after all the wonderful stories you've shared over the years, to search out the nearest thing to your mother's set that I could. With that in mind, I contacted Mr. Haly." He paused. "…We checked there, as well, you know. Master Wayne thought it a natural refuge for you to seek out. We should have known you wouldn't have gone to the first place we were sure to look. It's rather amusing, in a way; the longer you've evaded him, the more intense the war between worry and pride has become in his expression."

"Tsk. Pride?" he scoffed. _…Pride? He…he has that look like he's proud of me again? I miss that look…he hasn't given it to me in so long…_

"Yes. Pride," the butler replied simply, giving him a warning look. "As I said, I contacted Mr. Haly to see if he recalled any details about your family's service. I was hoping for at most a few vague recollections; imagine my surprise when he informed me that he'd been drinking from it just before he answered the telephone. Apparently one of the other performers, a Madame Soraya, had collected it from your trailer while it was being cleaned out. He was having a cup with her when I called."

"Tanti Soraya had it this whole time?" his eyes widened. "…Wow. In a way I'm not surprised – she was always jealous of it – but…did she give it back easily?"

"I didn't ask. Mr. Haly was kind enough to agree to meet me halfway between Gotham and where the circus was encamped at that time, and didn't bring the subject up. He was far too busy inquiring after you."

"You…you didn't tell him about…you know…how things have been, did you?"

"Certainly not. I merely indicated that you were struggling to find your path in life, as so many people of your age do, but that I had complete confidence that you would prove worthy to any challenge that presented itself along the way. In other words, Master Dick, I told him the absolutely truth." Their eyes met, a grateful and slightly quivering smile passing from the younger man to the elder. "The fourth cup, which as you pointed out had been destroyed, is here as the result of several weeks of scouring internet auction sites. I'm still not completely certain that it is the _correct_ cup, but it looks and feels the part, and I've no evidence that it is not from an identical set. So, as you see, it was a far less onerous task than I originally imagined it would be. As an additional bonus, I was able to give it to you much sooner than my worst moments of daydreaming led me to accept might be the case." He leaned forward and rested his hand on Dick's knee. "…Thank you for not waiting so long to emerge that I felt the need to write it into my will."

"…Don't talk like that," was whispered back.

"I meant nothing by it, I assure you," he squeezed gently. "All is well with me, except this problem between yourself and Master Wayne."

"Alfred…I can never repay you for finding this," he said, tracing the stem that circled the handle of his cup with a fingertip. "I…I didn't even realize I wanted it until I saw it again, and now…I don't know how I could have gone so long without it."

"If it helps, young sir, perhaps think of it as a present for the birthday I missed earlier this year," the Englishman replied, sitting back and draining his own vessel. Finished, he set the cup down carefully and considered his companion. "…I regret to say that I haven't time for a second serving."

"…No?" he pouted.

"Not if you want your secret to be safe for another few hours, no. I'm due to retrieve Master Wayne from work soon. You know how he is about tardiness."

Dick flinched. _Yeah. That's what set this whole mess off to begin with. _"…Yeah. Although if he fires you, too, you're welcome to come live here," he quipped.

"Your offer is duly noted," he smiled, standing. They both moved to the door, where the butler did the uncharacteristic and initiated an embrace. "I'll come again as soon as I can. You have a new phone number, do you not? We noticed your old one was disconnected."

"I'll send you a text so you have it. My sergeant said I'll be on morning shifts for the first few months, so…that leaves tea time free," he said hopefully.

"Not if you want to sleep before patrol, it doesn't." He hesitated. "May I inquire as to the new name you've taken?"

"…Nightwing. Only a few other people know so far. I'm guessing that by now everyone's figured out that Robin's…retired…but I didn't want to assume. I figured that's probably the only way I could make him madder at me, would be talking to people about it, so I've been avoiding it like the plague."

"Master Dick, I know this may be difficult for you to believe, but he is far angrier at himself than he ever was at you. If he comes, talk to him. If he doesn't, then I beg of you, reach out to him. If nothing else, let him know that you're safe. Please."

"I…I'll try, Alfred. Okay? If he comes, I'll listen. The other thing…I don't know. But…I'll try." He swallowed, hoping his hesitancy wouldn't prevent the other man from visiting. "You're still going to come see me either way, right?" he asked, his voice making him sound all of ten years old again.

"Whenever I can, my boy," he clasped his shoulder. "I promise you that. Be careful," he bade him as he stepped into the hall. "I've no time for somber occasions. Do you understand?"

"I got it," he nodded. "…Thank you. For the tea set, and…you know…everything else."

"Not at all, young sir. It was my pleasure, as always."

When the butler had vanished down the hall and the heavy building door had clanged shut behind him, Dick turned back into his mostly-empty apartment and slumped into his seat. _How much longer does this misery have to go on, Bruce?_ he wondered, burying his face in his hands as silent tears coursed down his cheeks.

Outside in the simple sedan he'd driven across the river, Alfred did the same.


	8. The Best Remedy

**Author's Note: A guest reviewer requested a story centered on Alfred comforting Dick following a problem with bullying. There are all sorts of cuddles at the end, for your reading pleasure. I thought about making a Proust reference, what with the green tea and madeleines, but decided to save it for later. Happy reading!**

* * *

"Good afternoon, Master Dick," Alfred greeted as the boy climbed into the backseat of the car. _Oh, dear. He has that look about him as if nothing in the world will ever make him smile again. I loathe seeing that expression on his face…_ "How was your day at school?"

"Hi, Alfred. It was okay," he shrugged, setting his backpack on the floor and strapping in. "Nothing special to report."

_That was a lie, my boy,_ the butler thought with a silent sigh as he glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "Do you have homework?" he asked, pulling away from the curb.

"A little. It's easy." That was the problem, really; it was _too_ easy. _It's not my fault I already know half the stuff they're teaching us,_ he lamented, staring out the window as the familiar route home passed by. _I just don't understand why everyone's so mean about it. My having good grades doesn't hurt them. _He rubbed his elbow where it had connected with bricks that morning following a shove from one of his more violent classmates. He could have avoided injury easily had he not needed to hide Robin, but the way he'd been pushed had made it impossible to avoid the collision without running halfway up the wall. _And there's no way that would have gone unnoticed…ow,_ he frowned as a bolt of pain shot down into his fingers. _That hurt._

"Are you all right?"

Dick looked up to find Alfred watching his reflection concernedly as they waited at a red light. "Oh. Yeah, I'm…I'm fine."

"You looked pained for a moment. Are you sure?" he prodded gently. _That was quite the wince you just gave. _

"I just…fell on the playground today at recess," he made up. _There's nothing Alfred or Bruce can do about it,_ he had decided some weeks earlier when the bullying had begun, _so there's no point in making them worry. I can stick it out, it's not a big deal._ "My arm's sore, that's all. I'm okay." _…I wish I could manage to throw my grades a little. Even just a couple of B's would get the worst ones off of my back. Bruce wouldn't be happy, but he probably wouldn't ground me so long as I didn't get more than one or two a semester…_ He'd tried that already, though, and failed; when he knew what the right answer was, it was impossible for him to write down the wrong one. _There's nothing wrong with getting the right answer, _part of him protested whenever he tried. Lately he came home with his jaw aching from grinding his teeth on test days, well aware of what getting another perfect score would result in but unable to do anything about it.

_Two untruths in a row? _the butler wondered. _Hmm. Something is very much not right here._ The child wasn't usually very vocal about his days at school, preferring instead to talk about his much more enjoyable nights on the streets, but he had never outright fibbed like this before. _Well, perhaps he'll open up over tea. He seems tense; a good infusion of green is in order this afternoon, I think…_

The rest of the drive passed in companionable silence, the Englishman determining that his younger charge might benefit from having a little quiet time to process whatever was bothering him. Arriving at the manor, they followed their usual routine, Dick heading upstairs to drop off his books in his room while Alfred started preparing their small repast. _Now we'll see what's made you so melancholy this afternoon,_ he determined as he set the loaded tray on the table in the corner of the kitchen. _…But where are you? _He frowned, his concern deepening. _You never delay coming back down for tea time. Perhaps this is even more serious than I thought…_

When another three minutes passed without any sign of him, Alfred grimaced and made his way to the second floor. "…Master Dick?" he called, knocking before he entered the bedroom. "Is everything all right?" Finding the space empty, his eyes shot to the window, but it was closed and bolted. _The bathroom, perhaps._ "Master Dick?" he repeated, mouth close against the door. His ears detected a light sniffle, and then the portal opened and the boy was in front of him, head bowed, arms wrapped around his stomach.

"Sorry. I was coming down, honest."

His voice was so quiet that the butler could scarcely make out the words. _Whatever is going on, it stops right now,_ he determined fiercely as he tilted the nine-year-old's chin up. _Oh, child,_ a little moan rang through his head as he saw the hastily wiped-away trails a series of tears had left on his cheeks. "…Come with me," he ordered softly, bending to take his hand and leading him from the room.

"There is no trouble so great or grave that cannot be much diminished by a nice cup of tea," he spoke again once they'd reached the kitchen and he saw his still-sniffling companion to his seat. "Do you know who said that?" he asked as he poured a lightly-hued cup of hot liquid and handed it over.

"Huh-uh," he shook his head, still upset but also a bit intrigued. _It's a good saying,_ he contemplated, _but is it true?_

"A man named Bernard-Paul Heroux. A philosopher, in fact," he was informed.

"So…he's French?"

"He was Basque, I believe."

"Oh," he nodded. _That's cool. Don't the Basque speak one of the oldest living languages in the world? I think that's right…_ His mouth turned down again. _If I didn't know so much useless stuff like that, maybe I'd stop getting picked on by other kids. But I __need__ to know those kinds of random things to be a good Robin…_ He couldn't throw knowledge out, and he didn't have the stomach to fake getting it wrong. His shoulders slumped. _What am I supposed to do? I just don't want them to hate me anymore. They don't have to like me, so long as they don't __hate__ me._

_Good lord, what is going on with you today?_ Alfred puzzled across the table as he watched his posture collapse. "…Master Dick?"

"Huh?" he looked up.

_What do I say to such a distraught mien? _the butler fretted. _ No child of his age should look as confused as he does at this moment. _"…Your tea is getting cold." He pushed a small plate towards him. "Would you like a madeleine? I just made them this morning." _Food and drink may bring his spirits up some._

"Thanks," he whispered, taking one. His first nibble was so tiny that it barely indented the scalloped edge of the little cake. "…They're really good."

"I'm quite pleased to hear that. I'd not used this recipe before today – it's a new one that a dear friend of mine just sent me – but if you like it, I'll keep it."

"Sure," he crumbled a little between his fingers. _…Alfred has friends, and he knows everything. So how come people like him, but not me? Are adults just that much nicer?_ A phrase that had been thrown in his face frequently of late rose to the top of his mind. _Alfred's so unassuming about everything he knows. Maybe I should just keep my mouth shut more often, and not volunteer answers ever? _"Alfred?" he asked slowly.

"Yes, young sir?"

"…Am I a know-it-all?"

The Englishman nearly laughed out loud at that idea, biting his reaction back only when he saw the serious expression on his charge's face. "Absolutely not, Master Dick," he assured him. "You are highly intelligent, and that fact, in addition to your secret life, has resulted in your possession of much more detailed knowledge on many topics than most people have. But I've never seen you be overly presumptuous about sharing what you know with others, and you certainly don't expound on things you know little or nothing about. You are a far cry from being a know-it-all." _If anything, you may be too humble about your abilities. Your teachers themselves have stated that you're quieter than they would prefer in class…but,_ he realized, _if one of the other children has been accusing you of being a braggart, that could well be the source of your question, and perhaps the root of your blue temper as well._ "What on earth gave you that idea?"

_Crud. If I __was__ a know-it-all, at least I'd know what I need to fix to make the other kids not hate me._ "Oh. Okay. I was just wondering," he smiled weakly, trying to dodge the question he'd been asked.

_I'm afraid I can't beat around the bush any longer. _"Did one of your classmates call you that today?" the butler queried softly, setting his cup down and leaning forward attentively.

Dick had to swallow hard to keep from crying. "…They say it all the time," he confessed. "And other stuff, too. It's okay, though," he tried to speak cheerily. "It's not a big deal."

His morosity was glaringly obvious in his tone despite what the man knew had been a valiant effort to cover it up. "I must disagree," he shook his head. "It is one thing for them to express their opinion of you, but quite another if it crosses the line into harassment, which it sounds as if it has."

"…They just don't like me, Alfred. It's okay. I'm used to not having any friends, so…"

It was the saddest thing he'd ever heard him say, but he didn't doubt that it was true. _Still, there were relatively few opportunities for you to be around other children of your age before you came here. There is no good reason I can think of for the others to reject you now. You aren't even new anymore; they ought to be used to your presence and looking to establish bonds._ _In any case, this certainly can't be allowed to go on; heaven only know what you might be driven to do if you've no companions of your own age once the chemical misery of puberty sets in._ "That point aside, it sounds to me as if you're being bullied. How many children say such things to you?"

He knew he had to answer unless he wanted to add Alfred being upset with him to his list of problems. _I shouldn't have asked if I was a know-it-all,_ he kicked himself. _If the crying didn't tip him off, that definitely did. _"…All of the ones who don't just straight out ignore me, I guess," he replied, his madeleine now half cookie, half pile of crumbs. He only stopped breaking it down between his thumb and forefinger when his elbow began to complain violently.

"How long has this been going on?" _And why on earth didn't I see it before now? You've been a bit more reserved lately, it's true, but I assumed that was due to your busy schedule and an accompanying tiredness. You never gave the slightest intimation that you were having troubles at school…_

"I dunno, Alfred. A while, I guess."

"…The start of the school year, perhaps?" he ventured.

"Maybe not _that_ long." _It took them a couple of weeks to realize that they didn't like me,_ he added in his head.

"…Why didn't you tell anyone, child?" the Englishman lamented.

"I tried telling my teacher. She gave the whole class this big talk about being nice to each other and respecting people's differences." He bit his lip. "…But everyone knew why we had to have that talk, and it just made them like me even less. She told me to tell her if it kept going, but I didn't want it to get even _worse_ if she gave that talk again…" Alfred's hand suddenly stretched across the table and covered his own, driving him to look up.

"Is this what has had you so distraught today? The attitude of your classmates?"

"Yeah," he nodded, hiccupping. "…'Scuse me."

"Of course. Tell me, when your teacher's solution failed, why didn't you come to Master Wayne or myself?"

"I didn't want to bother you. And besides, what-" another spasm in his diaphragm interrupted his sentence "-can you do about it? You can't _make_ them like me."

"Well, I'll have to speak with Master Wayne to determine exactly what our next step should be," he explained, "but there are options, things we can try to make this better. You don't need to hide such problems from us; they aren't a bother in the least." His brow knitted as a third hiccup reached his ears. "…Perhaps you ought to try a sip of tea. It may calm you," he suggested. _Still trying to hold it back,_ he sighed to himself. _You've become as bad as Master Wayne when it comes to showing what you consider to be a weakness._

Dick nodded and reached for his cup. He had it halfway to his mouth when his fingers suddenly went weak, and the heavy china slipped from his it hit the floor, he gasped. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to drop it, honest!" _Great. Now Alfred will be mad at me, too. And my arm…what's going on with that? It can't just give out like that, what if I'm in the middle of a fight, or swinging, or something?! _The thought was too much, and tears began to fleeing his eyes again as cradled the limb against his stomach.

"Hush," the butler soothed, going to his knees beside him. "The tea will come out of the rug with no effort at all. Look here, young sir, your cup is even still intact," he picked it up and set it back on the table to show him. "There was no harm done, and it was an accident besides. Speaking of," he continued gently, "let me see your arm, please." He'd seen the thin fingers clench momentarily just before they released the tea, and between that and the fact that the boy was holding his elbow it wasn't difficult to discern that there was a physical ailment in play.

"H-huh?"

"Your hand suddenly went weak, did it not?"

"H-how did you know?"

"Never mind that now," he shook his head, gently drawing the problem arm forward. Squeezing carefully, he worked his way up from his hand. When he reached the elbow, there was a gasp. "…There?"

"That _hurt," _was whined back. The bruise had ached all day, and the little shots of pain that had radiated up and down from it had been uncomfortable to say the least, but those things had been nothing compared to feeling Alfred's searching fingers sink into the wounded flesh.

"It's all right. Let's take a look, shall we?" the butler asked calmly as he pushed the sleeve up and out of the way. "…You have a rather impressive contusion," he stated as he took in the purple and blue mark that covered virtually the entire joint. "Bend your arm for me, please." He watched as his request was obeyed. _Perhaps just a pinched nerve, with the hand weakness, but I'd prefer it if Dr. Thompkins examined it. I'll see if she's available tomorrow for a quick appointment._ "Did this occur during patrol the other night?"

"No," he confessed, well aware that failure to report a patrol injury, even just a bruise like the one he'd acquired that morning, would mean no Robin duties for a month. That rule was just behind keeping their identities a secret in importance, and he couldn't bring himself to even pretend to have broken it.

"No, I didn't think so," Alfred's heart fell. He had known it was a fresh injury, not only from the color and swelling but because he'd spoken with the boy as he was putting on his pajamas the night before and had seen no such staining under his skin, but it was still a blow to hear his suspicions confirmed. He let him have his arm back, but didn't rise from the floor. "…Master Dick, it was one thing to not tell us that your schoolmates were using cruel words towards you. To not share physical abuse, however…I'm a bit disappointed."

"I…I fell on the playground, remember?" Dick tried nervously.

"That's the third time today you've lied to me, you know." As he's expected it would be, those few words and a stern but sad look were all it took to knock down the final walls. The child leaned forward over the table, burying his face against his uninjured elbow, and began to shake with quiet sobs. Alfred's eyes pricked with tears of their own as he rubbed his back, urging him silently to calm down.

"'M _sorry_," he moaned finally. "I just didn't want it to get worse. A couple of the the other boys push me around sometimes, that's all. One shoved me into the wall today, and I hit my elbow. I would have been okay if I'd have been Robin right then, but I couldn't, and…and…what if it doesn't get better, Alfred? What if…what if I _never_ have any friends? What if that jerk messed up arm forever? I can't go out on patrol like this, my fingers could just let go right in the middle of a swing or something. I don't know what to _do…_"

"All right," the butler soothed. "All right. Stand for a moment, would you?" When the chair was cleared, he sat down, then pulled the boy onto his knee in the same manner that his own father had when he needed to give gentle correction to his children. "Here," he stretched to retrieve his own cup from the other side of the table. Refilling it, he handed it to the trembling figure that leaned against him. "Use your good hand to hold it. There," he smiled slightly as the boy finally managed to get a sip of tea. "Now, while you work on that, I want you to listen. Understood?"

"Are you going to yell at me?" he asked fearfully.

"Absolutely not. We're going to have a little talk, but there's no reason for me to yell."

"…Okay."

"Very well, then. Now, I want to ensure that you are aware of some basic facts about life in this house. I assumed you already knew them, having been here for nearly a year, but it appears that they need to be clarified. First, there is neither need nor good reason to _ever_ hide an injury from either myself or Master Wayne, particularly one that is causing you pain and weakness. Second, the lying. I understand your excuses," he cut him off before he could protest, "and I will let the incident slide this time, but I will have no tolerance for lies based entirely in the civilian world in the future. That is especially true for when you are being abused or mistreated in some manner, or when you are hurt. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Alfred," he nodded contritely.

"Good. As for your concerns, I want you to try not to worry. You _will_ make friends, young sir, I assure you. You simply have not yet met with people who are prepared to accept you for who you are. Someday you may even be friends with some of those who currently torment you, once they've matured a little and realize that they were very foolish to have ignored or bulliedyou. As for your arm, it will heal. I don't suspect anything more than a slightly pinched nerve, although I will arrange for you to visit with Dr. Thompkins tomorrow just to be certain. A course of rest and ibuprofen should be sufficient, although I think we would be well served by having you wear a sling to school for a few days."

"…A sling? Why?"

"The less you aggravate the nerve while it heals, the better. Also," he tacked on with a sly look, "it may make your bullies think twice about laying a hand on you." _And it will strengthen our case with the school counselor, on top of it,_ he contemplated. "So, while I imagine Master Wayne will think it best that Robin stay home this weekend," he suppressed a smile that tried to slip out when he heard a groan at that, "you shouldn't have any permanent damage to your arm. All right?"

"…Okay." _He's right, Bruce won't let me go out on patrol when he hears about everything,_ he thought sadly. _Well, I __did__ lie three times today. I guess I kind of deserve it, but…it still sucks._ Draining the last of the tea Alfred had poured for him, he curled up against him and let his eyes close. "…Alfred?"

"Yes, young sir?"

"…I'm really sorry I didn't tell you the truth," he said sincerely. "I don't like lying to you, I just didn't know what else to do."

"When it comes to Master Wayne and myself, honesty is always the best option," the butler said a bit distractedly. _Goodness, but you are an affectionate child. I knew as much, of course, from watching you and Master Wayne interact these past months, but…well, suffice it to say that I no longer wonder at why he doesn't spurn your requests for physical closeness the way he has those of all others ever since he was a child._ His grip tightened on the figure dozing off in his lap. _Social positions be damned, if only for a moment, _he surprised himself by thinking. _This is far too pleasant to be disturbed by such worries, at least in the privacy of our little corner._

He wasn't sure how long they sat there, the boy asleep, exhausted from the day's trials, himself musing contentedly on the warm weight in his arms. When Bruce suddenly appeared in the doorway with a slightly confused look on his face, he started. "Master Wayne. My apologies, I didn't hear you come in." _Damn. I can't rise without waking him, but it must be well past time to start dinner…_

Bruce just blinked at them. _That,_ he grinned after a moment, _is one of the sweetest things I've ever seen. Although I have to wonder what drove them to that point,_ his delight tempered itself. _Alfred's idea of comforting relies on cookies, not hugs. And is Dick __asleep__? How long have they been sitting there like that?_ "No, don't," he gestured for the butler to remain seated when he seemed about to get up. "Let me take him. I'll put him to bed until dinner." Crossing the room, he carefully took his son from the other man's arms, shifting him easily into a comfortable position he'd discovered after many nights of carrying him upstairs.

"Watch his elbow, sir. He has a rather nasty bruise, and I believe a pinched nerve."

The billionaire's eyes narrowed. "…Not a patrol injury?" he asked tightly.

"No. It emerged today that he's been being bullied at school. It's rather a long story; perhaps we'd best discuss it once you've situated him in his room."

"Right," he grimaced. "I'll be back down in a minute." _Bullied? Why didn't you say anything, kiddo?_ he queried sadly as he turned away to move his precious cargo to bed. _…And what kind of a jackass kid would dislike you, anyway?_

Alfred watched them go before beginning to tidy the table. _Well,_ he considered as he dabbed at the damp spot on the rug, _I suppose a nice cup of tea did serve to diminish this bit of trouble, after all, if only by helping us become aware of what the trouble was. And it certainly put him right to sleep after he'd finished spilling his woes. Now if only Master Wayne and I can work out a solution…_

It wouldn't be a problem, he was sure. After all, they'd hashed out plenty of other weighty problems before now; a schoolyard sequestration should prove simple. _And if the issue continues, hopefully the young master will no longer refrain from coming to us about it. Now, at least,_ he thought with a small smile as he fell to work washing their cups, _I know exactly how to make him feel better._ _And if tea and hugs are the best medicine for his ailments, I've no complaints whatsoever about filling the prescription._


	9. Tea and Sympathy

**Author's Note: We're mixing things up a little with this chapter. This is based off a request from msubabe (thanks for the prompt!), and is actually a Bruce/Dick piece, although Dick and Alfred's tea ritual is at the heart of it. Happy reading!**

* * *

"…Dick," Bruce knocked lightly on his door as he pushed it open. "Are you awake?"

"…No," came back grumpily.

_That clears it right up,_ the billionaire gave a mental chuckle. _ Oh, kiddo, you look pathetic,_ he lamented as he moved towards where the teen lay under about a half dozen quilts. Two days earlier he'd begun experiencing body aches, dry coughing, extreme exhaustion, and an eye-popping headache, all symptoms of the cruel flu variant that had been terrorizing both the Justice League and their junior cohort for several weeks. Robin wasn't the first member of Young Justice to fall prey to it; it had ravaged Artemis and Kid Flash before jumping to their leader, who had naturally been trying to help nurse his teammates when they started feeling ill. His charity hadn't won him any points with the virus, however, and looking at him now, all tired eyes, sinus strips, and unhappy pout, Bruce wished it was possible to punch something that was microscopic. Since that option closed to him, he broached a rhetorical question. "…Still feel like crap?"

"No, it's shit now," the fifteen year old replied hoarsely. "I don't even care if Alfred heard that. _Everything_ hurts."

"He's not here anyway," the man reminded him as he sat down on the edge of the bed and handed over a glass of water and a pill. "…He left this morning, remember?" _I practically had to force him out the door with you up here like this, but I think my threat to drug him and ship him FedEx finally got through, because he went._

"Ugh, I forgot," Dick moaned as he sat up to swallow his medicine. "I didn't even know butlers _had_ reunions. Unless…" he twitched an eyebrow north, "it wasn't a _butler_ reunion?"

"I'd wager money that you're right."

"…So Alfred's at some ex-secret agent get together, I'm sick in bed, and you're…what?"

"Taking care of you, obviously."

"…I'm a little scared of that idea."

"Hey, now, I've been sick before," he defended himself. "I remember what Alfred did in those instances." _Sort of,_ he didn't add.

"…What about patrol?"

"I'll break it into two parts so I can come back and check on you."

"That's stupid," Dick mumbled.

"It can't be helped," he sighed.

"…Sorry."

"It's not your fault, chum. Don't worry about it."

"…You know you're next, right?"

"_Don't_ remind me," he ordered. _I don't have time to be as sick as you look._ "I just hope-"

The boy's watch beeped loudly on the nightstand, drawing a wretched groan from its owner. "Shut uuuuup," he protested, fumbling for it. It flopped onto the rug, and Bruce retrieved it, stopping the piercing tones with the push of a button. "Why did I set that? Why?" Dick asked his own knees as he bent forward, pounding head cradled in his palms.

"What was it for?" the billionaire asked as he put it back in its spot beside the bed. "Medicine?"

"Tea."

"…You set your alarm for _tea time_?"

"Yeah. That way if I get caught up in school work I don't force Alfred to troop all the way up here to let me know it's ready." Catching the man's incredulous look, he bore up under his sore throat and tried to explain. "There's this prime window of flavor, right, and we miss it when he has to tell me to come down. I actually came up with an equation for math class designed to calculate how many minutes you should steep relative to water temperature, type of tea, altitude, and a couple of other factors. It's completely subjective, of course, since I was the one who decided when the tea tasted best and named that the optimum, but it was still fun. My teacher liked it, at least," he sighed as he dropped back into his pillows. "But yeah, my watch is set to go off at tea time. It's okay," he smiled vaguely at the lack of understanding on his guardian's face. "I don't expect you to get our tea…thing."

"Good. You'd have been disappointed." _Tea is disgusting. You normally have fairly good taste, so I don't know what happened there…I get you and Alfred wanting to have something you do together regularly, but tea? _

"Yup." His face pinched suddenly as his larynx protested his soliloquy. "Oooowww…"

"What?"

"This suuucks, Bruce…" _If my head would just stop hurting,_ he whined. A rough cough scraped his already-dry throat even rawer. _…And that crud can stop, too,_ he added. _I'd feel so much better if just those two things would go away._

"Well, go to sleep, then."

"I can't." _I'm tired physically, but I'm wide awake, _he stared at him.

Bruce glanced around the room. "I could hand you your computer," he suggested.

He shook his head. _No, the screen makes my brain feel like it's going to run out my ears._

"No? Okay…a book?"

Another shake; he'd already tried that, but he had such a hard time concentrating on the words that it wasn't worth the effort.

"Television?"

"Screen hurts," he insisted.

"What _would_ make you feel better, then?" the billionaire inquired a bit exasperatedly. _I want to help, Dick, but it doesn't seem like any of the things you usually distract yourself with are options right now. Physical activity is out._ Another harsh bray made him wince. _…Although, maybe you've been lying in bed long enough. You haven't gone any further than the bathroom since you came home sick from the mountain, and the last thing we need is for you to develop pneumonia._ "Can you handle a walk, do you think?"

"Huh-uh," he shook his head. "I don't know. Sorry. 'M just miserable." He sniffed. "…I won't be upset if you don't want to be around me right now, Bruce. Honest. I know I'm bad company."

"You aren't bad company, you're just sick," he negated. _There has to be __something__. Maybe…_ An idea glimmered in the back of his mind. _…No, that's ridiculous. I don't even know where half the stuff is for it. Still, though…it means enough to him that he sets his alarm for it every day. The only other thing he does that for is patrol._ He grimaced. _Well, shit. He's sure as hell not going out on patrol, so tea it is, I guess._ "…What if I helped you downstairs, and we had tea?" he suggested hesitantly.

Dick started. …_What?_ "You _loathe_ tea."

"That's not the point," he shook his head. "Will doing whatever it is you two do when you have tea make you feel better?"

"…Bruce, I don't want you to do something you hate."

"That isn't what I asked you, chum. Will it help, or won't it? And don't just say no because you think I'll be happier if you do. I'd rather see you feel a little better than get out of choking down a cup of herb water."

"I…well, yeah, it would," he realized. _If nothing else, the steam might help my head. _"But-"

"Stop," the billionaire overrode him quietly. "If I was that opposed to the idea, I wouldn't have suggested it."

"Yeah, but-"

"But nothing. Quit arguing and save your strength. You're going to need it to tell me how exactly I do all this tea stuff."

"It's not rocket science," the teen said in a gravelly voice, rolling his eyes. "Figures. If it was, you might be okay at it," he pushed out just to see his guardian look amused for a moment. _Stop feeling bad because I feel bad, Bruce. It just makes me feel __worse__._

In the kitchen a short while later, he collapsed into his usual chair, what few strength reserves he'd had having been utterly drained by their ride down in the elevator and the short walk through the halls. "Meeeehh…"

"Do you want a throat drop or something?" his guardian dropped a hand onto his shoulder with a frown.

"Uh-uh. Messes with flavor," he gestured towards the stove. "Blech."

"…Okay." _All right,_ Bruce thought determinedly, moving behind the counter with far more confidence in his step than he actually felt. _If tea will make him feel better, then I'm making him tea._ The kettle was obvious enough, sitting on the stove. Lifting it, he found it empty, and proceeded to run it under the faucet. _Some heat,_ he flipped on a burner. _…Something to put it in,_ he faltered slightly before turning to the cabinets behind him. He had no idea where the actual tea sets were kept – he knew there were several around, but since they'd had absolutely no bearing on his life up until this afternoon he'd never bothered to think about their location - but he'd watched Alfred pour him coffee often enough to locate a shelf full of thick ceramic mugs. _And…I guess the tea, but where the hell is that?_ "…Dick, where are the tea bags?"

_Oh, boy, _the boy dragged himself to his feet. _Tea bags, in this house? Alfred would have your tongue for that._

"Don't get up, just tell me," the man began to come around to him. _This was a bad idea. You're too pale after the trip down…I should have left you in bed and brought it up to you. Don't ask me how I would have done that, since I don't even know where the damn tea is, but at least then maybe you wouldn't look like you're about to pass out._ "…Dick, stop," he insisted, grabbing his elbow.

But the teen shook his head and led him into the pantry. He peered around for a moment, unable to quite recall which cabinet it was that he needed, then reached out finally and pulled open what Bruce would have taken for an unusually wide broom closet. The heavy door swung outwards, revealing a well-appointed collection of all the materials the butler used to blend, prepare, and serve his beverage of choice.

"…Ta-da," Dick whispered croupily.

_Whoa. He could serve tea to the queen herself with all of that, and I had no idea…God, what else is Alfred hiding in here? _the billionaire wondered as he craned his neck towards the other cabinets, his expression suspicious.

"Heh."

His attention returned to his son. "…What're you grinning at?" his lip twitched upwards. _Nice to see you happy for a second, kiddo._

"You," was replied simply. _It's fun to see you get caught off guard, at least when it doesn't put our lives in danger for once. After all, it happens to rarely…_

"Quit laughing at me and show me what we need out of here, would you?" His voice was terse, but his eyes were soft as they met their match.

Back in the kitchen, they spread their tools out on the countertop. Dick gave the mugs a funny look, then shrugged and picked up the large container of loose leaf lapsang souchong he'd snagged. _Bruce __might__ actually like this,_ he'd decided when he chose it. _It's heavy enough in flavor that he doesn't have to think about it too hard. _ His mouth pulled on a scowl as his fingers proved unworthy to pry the lid off of the tin. _…Stupid flu. This isn't even on that tight, I should be able to get it._

"Here," his guardian reached over and took the bin from him, popping it open easily. "How much?" he then asked, picking up one of the tea cages. Seeing the boy's eyebrows go up at his sudden prowess, he scoffed. "Don't get any ideas. This part is pretty self-explanatory."

"Oh?" he challenged.

"The tea goes in these, these go in the cups, and the cups get filled with hot water." _…Yes?_

_That was a half-guess at best. _"…It's funny how you're so helpless in the kitchen."

"I can make pancakes perfectly well, you know that. You've eaten plenty of them."

"And I've always been amazed I was able to digest them," he mumbled unintelligibly, taking the mesh enclosure from the man's hands and scooping leaves into it.

"What?"

"…Nothing," he bit back a smirk.

"I heard that."

_No you didn't,_ Dick's knowing glance relayed. _But I was just teasing you, anyway._

The kettle began to whistle a moment later, and Bruce leapt for it when the teen gave an uncomfortable hiss at the sound. "Pour?" Seeing a nod, he filled both mugs.

"…Now we wait," the younger male advised, leaning against the counter in an effort to make his swaying less obvious. _Tired, and not tired,_ he complained silently. _This is ridiculous. But at least I'm making tea with Bruce. That's ridiculous, too, but in the 'I can't believe this is happening' way, not the 'make this stop because it's miserable' way._

_I can't believe I'm going to drink this,_ the billionaire groused as he watched thin tendrils escape the immersed cages and unfurl in the open water, slowly darkening it. _…Although it doesn't smell the way I think of tea smelling,_ he couldn't help but note. A heady, tar- and tobacco-laced scent filled his nostrils, almost managing to be enticing despite his best efforts at disdain. _You're acting as bad as they do,_ he chastised himself, straightening from where he'd begun to lean over a mug. "…Dick?" he asked sharply when he caught sight of the boy's face.

"'M all right," he promised weakly, struggling to keep his knees from giving out.

"Don't lie to me, I know that look," Bruce lectured as he pulled him away from the steaming hot liquids. _If you weren't so damn stubborn you'd have already hit the floor. _"We're going back upstairs, right now." _This was stupid. What was I thinking, bringing him downstairs in his condition? _

"But…"

The single word was so piteous that he paused. "…But what?"

"…Our tea?" He seemed to be almost on the edge of tears at the thought of abandoning their project, and Bruce had to look away to keep from caving immediately.

_Damn it, Dick…you need to rest. _"I'll bring it to your room. We can drink it there. All right?" He got a smile for that suggestion, followed by a short nod. Then the teen stumbled and nearly dropped to the tile. "_Not_ a good idea, little bird," he crooned as he caught him and held him steady. "Marble's a bitch on knees."

"…'Kay."

_Oh, yeah, __straight__ to bed. Don't even think about arguing,_ he grimaced as he bent and scooped him into a cradle hold. _I hope part of this is the medicine kicking in, because I'm going to feel like shit if coming to the kitchen wiped you out this much._

For his part, Dick tucked his head against his guardian's shoulder and let himself be carted back to his room. He could feel the worry and guilt rolling off of the man holding him, but he didn't open his eyes as he was lowered onto the mattress and the blankets were once again tucked tightly around him. "…Bruce?" he rasped as a gentle hand brushed across his forehead.

"What is it, chum?"

All the talking he'd done over the past half hour left him feeling as if he'd attempted fire eating, only to learn that he had no talent for the art. "...Thirsty. Tea?"

"I'm going, kiddo. Do _not_ try to get up, do you understand?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Good." _He's not going anywhere,_ he tried to reassure himself, glancing back from the doorway. _With any luck he'll go right to sleep and I won't even have to drink mine... _

Dick finally dragged his eyes open when he heard Bruce returning. Strong arms pulled him upright and propped him against the headboard before pressing a warm mug into his hands. _…It smells about right,_ he mused before taking a tiny sip. The liquid vanished at the back of his mouth, and a sad sigh slipped through his lips.

"…What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing," he shook his head, grinning slightly at the man's completely unsurprised tone. _Yeah, we both know you're hopeless in the kitchen, no matter how proud you are of those half-cooked Frisbees you call pancakes. _"We just missed the window, that's all."

"…Oh." _We'd have hit it if we stayed in the kitchen, I'd bet, but…god, Dick, you were about to collapse. I couldn't let you stay down there. Although I guess I could have just moved you into the den, but…well, I shouldn't have suggested the trip to start with. _Frustrated, he glared into his own dark beverage, then allowed a minuscule portion of it to roll over his tongue. _…Oh. I mean…this isn't that bad, actually,_ his taste buds decided with a shock.

"D'you like it?"

"…You know something? It's, ah…it's pretty good," he admitted. "…What did you spike it with to make me think that, is my question."

"Dunno," the teen responded. "Maybe it's just because we made it together."

"…Yeah. Maybe it is." He took a longer drink. _Not __too__ disgusting at all._

"Did I convert you?" Dick inquired a little while later when the level in both mugs had decreased substantially and the raging inferno in his throat had calmed.

"To tea?"

"Yeah."

"No."

"…Oh." _Wishful thinking._

"But," the billionaire disclosed, "I'd be willing to have a cup of this kind every once in a while."

"Really?!"

"Really." Seeing his son's eyelids droop even as a happy grin spread across his lips, Bruce leaned forward and rescued his mostly-empty cup before it could be dropped by accident. Setting it aside with his own mug, he bent over and helped the sick teen reposition himself. Fingers stayed locked around his wrist when he tried to pull back, allowing him to sit on the mattress but restricting his range beyond that. He was about to ask for his hand back so that he could go get some work done when he realized that the boy had already drifted off. _…A nap doesn't sound half-bad, _he relented. _Not that you're giving me a whole lot of other options here, but…what the hell. The paperwork won't go anywhere._ Climbing over the unconscious figure to lie behind him, he froze. _…I must already be getting sick,_ he frowned. _'The paperwork won't go anywhere?'_ _Jesus, what's wrong with me?_

And yet he still lay down, slipping his free arm under the boy's head as he did so. _You might not have switched me over to tea today, Dicky,_ he thought as he gave him a final once-over and closed his eyes, _but I don't see myself turning down the occasional cup in the future. Provided, of course,_ the billionaire's mouth curved up contentedly, _that I can share it with you._


	10. Cheers

"…I always feel so lazy when I watch you work," Dick commented one afternoon as Alfred poured their tea.

The pale stream cascading from pot to cup twitched slightly, causing a momentary discord in the otherwise melodious transfer. "What on earth do you mean, young sir?" the butler inquired. "You've hardly a spare moment in your own life; surely you don't think yourself idle?"

"I don't know," the twelve-year-old shrugged. "It's just this feeling I get, like I should be doing more."

"Nonsense," the Englishman chastised gently, sliding a cup towards his charge. "You do more than most adults. There's no cause whatsoever for you to feel inadequate."

"Yeah, but…that's still how I feel. I can't help it. I've tried," the boy disclosed before sipping. "Mmm…this is a really good one. What's it called?"

"King of Silver Needles," Alfred answered, taking a small drink of his own and letting it settle in his mouth. It suffused his palate with its delicate flavor, teasing him with a hint of almost-citrus at the back of his tongue before leaving a mildly grassy aftertaste.

"…It tastes like a summer afternoon," Dick opined, "but it smells kind of funny. Like something you'd clean with."

The butler chuckled. "You've hit it on the nose, I believe, young sir. You're getting rather good at this."

"Well I _am_ learning from the best," he grinned back.

"Your enthusiasm is flattering, but hardly accurate. Much like your belief that I am somehow busier than you are on an average day," he led back into the remark the child had opened the afternoon with. "I'd be interested to hear your theory on why you feel as such."

"Well…for one thing, you're always moving. You're up before I am, and before Bruce is, and you don't go to bed until we're home from patrol. I'll bet you stay up until Batman gets back on weeknights, too, don't you?"

"I do indeed." _Heaven forbid he should need me for some emergency,_ he held back a shudder.

"So you get less sleep than we do, but then you're working all day long. You clean, and you make all of our food, and you manage our schedules, and you drive me back and forth to school five days a week. Sometimes you drive Bruce to work, too. Plus you do the shopping, and you make sure the cave is clean and our costumes are always ready and…and it just goes on and on! I don't even know how you do it, unless there are like fifteen clones of you running around, all sharing a hive mind, and you're just so awesome at stealth that we never see two of you in the same place." He paused. "…There _is_ just one of you, right?"

"I assure you, young sir, that I am the original work, and that to the best of my knowledge no copies have been made," he smiled.

"…Okay. Well, I see all that, and it's like you never stop. You're _always_ doing something. Even when we're having tea, _you_ prepare it, _you_ pour it, and _you_ clean up after it. And then I think about me, and…all I do all day is sit in class, bored out of my skull because most of the time we're talking about stuff that I know already. Then I do my homework in the car, because it's so easy it takes, like, no time at all, and then after tea I usually just go read or play around on the bars downstairs. Maybe I'll work on a case, or some training stuff that Bruce assigned me, but…none of that's immediately useful, except when we're chasing something big. A lot of what I do is stuff I want to do, except for school. Even that wouldn't be bad if it wasn't so boring, though. But there's no way you _want_ to spend all afternoon vacuuming, or all day Saturday making tiny little canapés for some party where everyone's going to be too drunk to even taste them." His shoulders slumped. "It just makes me feel like I should be doing _more_ with my time."

Alfred took a deep breath. "Master Dick," he began slowly, "there are two things that you must understand about the differences between what you and I do with our hours. First – and don't take this as an offense, as it is certainly not intended as such – you are still a child. No matter how much you may wish to be an adult, you are not there yet. Part of the way that children grow into adults is by playing, by testing their minds and their bodies to determine their limits and learn who they are. You play by reading things that you want to read, by practicing your acrobatics and other physical skills, and by spending the time that you do with Master Wayne.

"You see these things as leisure, because as you stated they are things that you enjoy, and that you wish to do. I would argue, however, that they still constitute work, and hard work at that. The books you read are challenging, stretching your mind and making it better able to consider situations from many angles; the moves you rehearse downstairs are not idle stretching of your muscles, but rather a honing of them, and that is work in the most basic of senses. Both of those things feed into your night work, which I would point out is literally labeled as labor. No matter how much you enjoy swinging about Gotham as Robin and delivering criminals to the authorities, no one in their right mind would argue that those weekend forays are not work, nor that they are always – perhaps even usually – wholly pleasant. In that instance, you are doing work not only physically, but again mentally, both by solving the cases and by dealing with their aftermath within yourself. Despite how hard of work it really is, you persist, because you are dedicated to a cause.

"Now, as to the second point; I, too, am dedicated to a cause, and the pursuit of that cause makes all of the little tasks that lie along the way vastly more enjoyable than they would be otherwise. Yes, I spend my days cooking and cleaning up after you and Master Wayne, keeping your calendars in order and pitching in where I can on your mutual evening hobby. But I do so, and I do so happily, because I long ago took up the task of ensuring that the people who are attached to this house need not concern themselves with the daily minutiae of living that keep so many others from pursuing their true desires. I embraced my cause, and continue to hold it dear to this day, because I found people here whom I not only liked a great deal but who also seemed to be pursuing goals that had the ability to change far more lives than I was ever capable of doing on my own.

"I serve, now, yourself and Master Wayne. By taking care of the little things here at the house, I aim to ensure that the two of you are able to pursue _your_ cause, justice, at a higher level. Because I help the two of you, you can help dozens, every night. Now, cooking three meals a day and, yes, the occasional batch of canapés may not seem to have anything to do with putting dangerous people behind bars, but I assure you that it does. It's merely an indirect factor in your performance on the streets."

"…Huh," Dick frowned when he'd finished. "I guess I never thought of taking care of us as being your mission the way taking out baddies is ours. That makes sense, but…I still never see you actually having _fun_, Alfred. Like, really _enjoying_ yourself."

"Pray tell, young sir, what you think my feelings are towards our little afternoon ritual?" the butler asked, one eyebrow uplifted.

"Um…well, you're still technically serving me, so…I don't really see how it isn't just more work for you."

"Ah, but don't forget, we've already determined that work – even hard work – can be very enjoyable," he reminded, raising a finger to make his point. "Our daily teas are a fine example, in my case. The making and pouring of the tea is a ritual in and of itself that I find soothing, and have never considered to be laborious. As for actual _pleasure_, well…" He trailed off, then lifted his cup in a modest salute. "Pleasure is all in the company, young sir. Between yourself and Master Wayne, I find I live a life quite full of pleasure, regardless of the task at hand."

Dick blushed, then smiled radiantly. "…Thanks, Alfred." He was silent for a moment. "If that's true – what you just said – then that explains something this girl in my class said today."

"A girl, Master Dick?" the butler inquired, intrigued.

"Yeah. She said I was such a happy person it made her sick."

"…Ah." _So not a pleasant girl, then. That's unfortunate; I was hoping that you had some young lady swooning. _ It was bound to start happening sooner rather than later, he knew, given that the boy's classmates were all two years older than him. _Well, perhaps that's the problem,_ he reflected. _You're small for your age, and younger than them on top of it; they may be ahead of you hormonally, but that won't matter if they still see you as a child. A few more years, then, perhaps. The delay will make Master Wayne happy, if nothing else, although I fear it may be frustrating for you._ "Has her rather rude comment been troubling you?"

"Meh. I've had plenty worse. Besides, I don't really mind the idea of making her sick. She's not a very nice person."

"So I gathered," Alfred bit back a smirk.

"Anyway, I was thinking maybe I'm so happy because I never do any work, which I guess is why I said what I did about feeling lazy. Now, though, I know I'm just happy because I'm surrounded by awesome people. You know, when I'm not at school."

It was the butler's turn to feel humbled. "…You have been a naturally happy person as long as I've known you, young sir," he told him quietly. "And while I am infinitely glad that you are so pleased with the life that Master Wayne and myself have tried to provide for you, I must insist that we are only able to be as 'awesome' as you say we are because of the intense joy you bring into our days." They stared at each other for a long moment, the boy's lower lip trembling, the man's upper kept stiff through sheer force of will.

It was the younger of the pair who finally broke the silence. "…If we're done complimenting each other into tears, can I have another cup?" he whispered.

"Of course you may," Alfred conceded, picking up the pot. "…You won't feel idle if I pour, will you?" he asked with a tiny smile.

Dick laughed. "Nope," he beamed. "Not anymore. Besides, I wouldn't want to keep you from your pursuit of happiness," he joked.

"Quoting the Declaration of Independence to an Englishman?" he put on a false air of disdain. "Quite cheeky of you, I must say."

"Sorry, the Magna Carta just isn't as mellifluous."

"Lovely word usage. And you are correct, besides."

"Thanks."

"Not at all."

They sipped quietly. "Hey, Alfred."

"Hmm?"

"…I think I finally caught you having fun just now."

"You may have, young sir. Forgive my impropriety," he jested slightly.

"…Nah, it was for a good cause. I can't hold that against you," was grinned back.

His eyes sparkled as they shot the boy a pleased look. _A __very__ good cause. Certainly the most worthy that __I've__ ever undertaken._ With that in mind, he lifted his cup. "Here's to serving one's causes, then."

The boy tilted his head slightly, considering him, and then raised his drink as well. "And to appreciating what – and sometimes who – makes that possible," he added. "Cheers, Alfred."

"…Cheers indeed, Master Dick." 


	11. The Elephant Tail Travail

Alfred frowned at the clock, and then at the doorway. _…Where is he?_ he wondered a bit concernedly. _It isn't like Master Dick to be late for tea. He can't have gotten caught up in homework, not in the middle of July, and he didn't seem ill at lunch…_ Running through a list of reasons why his younger charge might be tardy for their afternoon ritual, he stepped into the hallway and glanced in both directions. _No, this isn't like him at all._

It was possible, he considered as he headed up to the child's bedroom, that he'd simply become absorbed in a book or something and lost track of time. _I __have__ been unable to partake with him these last two days…perhaps he imagined that we weren't having tea again this afternoon as a result. Well…hmm,_ the butler harrumphed silently, finding the chamber devoid of life. _I suppose I shall have to broaden my search._ He managed to keep his worry off of his face as he checked the master bedroom, the den, the game room, the study, and the library, but by the time he swung back through the kitchen to make sure they hadn't passed one another there was a vertical canyon forming between his eyes. _The lawn and the cave are really the only other places he's likely to be,_ he decided, and set out from his point of origin again.

He was bothered enough by the boy's inexplicable absence that he bent one of his own rules, calling out for him from the bottom of the cave stairs as well as from several different positions on the front and back lawns. _…He __must__ be here somewhere,_ he thought, his certainty becoming ragged at the edges as he returned to the house. _No one could possibly have gotten onto the property to have kidnapped him, he knows better than to leave the lawn without permission when he's outside, and he wouldn't go out as Robin without permission. _Growing more disturbed with each passing minute, the Englishman mounted the stairs once more and began his quest anew, spreading out a bit to include areas that Dick rarely visited alone; living room, dining room, civilian gymnasium, and so forth. Checking every bathroom he passed ensured that the youth wasn't simply indisposed at the moment, and as he completed his second round of searching the stiffness of his upper lip was in jeopardy. _Where __are__ you, young sir? You're beginning to scare me..._

As he traipsed the back corridors of the sprawling building, hoping that perhaps he'd merely gone for an exploratory walk indoors, Alfred mulled over whether or not it was time to call his elder charge and apprise him of the situation. _If he's wandered off into the woods and become lost, we need to find him quickly. As for the other possibility…_ He shuddered, not wanting to think about someone sinister having somehow gotten through the property's myriad defenses only to take off with the child. _It can't be that bad. He's just found an old trunk of clothes or something of that nature and is too busy playing to have realized the time. I'm sure he's fine…_

Just as he sensed panic beginning to stain the edges of his rationality, he heard a slight scuffle that did not belong to the house. _Ah, there he is, I'd wager,_ a rush of relief made him slightly light-headed._ Although,_ he arched one eyebrow, _I'm rather curious to know why he is in __my__ quarters…_ "Master Dick?" he inquired as he stepped into the set of rooms that had long ago been designated as his.

"Eep!" With a squeak, the child slammed a drawer shut and leapt around to face the butler. "I'm sorry!" he apologized instantly. "I wasn't trying to do anything wrong, I wasn't sneaking, I just…I just needed something."

"What did you need, young sir, and for what purpose?" _And why didn't you come to me directly for whatever it is?_ he held back as the nine-year-old chewed at his lip and contemplated the question.

"I…" A bright blue gaze fell to the lump of gray fabric at his feet.

Following his gaze downwards, the Englishman discovered his answer. "Oh, dear. Miss Elinor has had a bit of an accident, has she?" Putting on a serious expression, he bent to examine the spot where the stuffed elephant's tail had been torn from its body.

"I…I didn't mean to. I was just picking her up off the floor, and I grabbed her tail and it…it came off," Dick sniffled miserably. "I wasn't _trying_ to hurt her. So I thought…if I could find a needle…"

"You thought you might sew it back on for her, did you?"

"Yeah. I wanted to fix her. I wasn't snooping, Alfred, I promise, but you always bring stuff that needs mended in here, and so I thought this must be where you keep the sewing things."

"Was there any particular reason you opted not to simply _ask_ for the supplies you needed?" the butler inquired, not unkindly.

"…You've been so busy the last couple days, getting ready for Bruce's big dinner thing," he shrugged, eyes shining with honesty. "I mean…we haven't had tea since Wednesday. And…and we always do that, have tea. So I didn't want to bother you about Elinor if you were so busy that you had to skip that, but…I guess I ended up bothering you anyway." His shoulders slumped.

"…Well, I can certainly follow your logic," Alfred sad quietly, a thread of guilt winding through his words. "I've been a bit distant these last few days, haven't I?" Hearing as much was hardly a surprise – the annual mid-summer lawn party at Wayne Manor for which he'd been preparing all week had been the upper-crust social event of the summer season ever since its inception several years earlier, and to call it merely huge was to damn it with faint praise – but it still made him feel derelict in his duties. _To be fair, I've never had to ready one of these soirees with a child in the house needing attended to as well,_ he gave himself a bit of slack, _but that's hardly an excuse for neglect, especially since he has no one else with whom to socialize during the day. Thank heaven he's not prone to ill behavior when left unsupervised…_

"You're doing tons of stuff. Bruce said this is a really big thing, so…it's okay. I just…you're not mad at me for being in here without permission, are you? I didn't mean to do anything wrong, I really didn't."

"I'm not upset with you, Master Dick," the Englishman assured. "In fact, I found myself with a few spare moments this afternoon and wondered if you might like to share a quick pot. What do you say?"

"…You have time?" was asked hopefully.

"I do indeed. Why don't you bring your elephant with, and we'll perform an assessment of her injuries before I return to my chores, hmm?"

"That would be super nice," he nodded, bending to pick up the creature that had been lingering on the rug while he searched for stitching materials. "…She's losing her fluff," he frowned as a white puff tried to escape the opening in her velvety hide. "What if she gets all empty before I can fix her, Alfred? Is that…I mean, that's kind of like bleeding out, right?"

He barely suppressed a shudder at hearing the boy speak so nonchalantly about a lethal medical condition. _Sometimes I wish Master Wayne had skipped just a few things with you during your early training,_ he bit back. _There was enough darkness in your life already before he allowed his own night shadow to fall over you._ "I suppose it would be, young sir, but we shan't let that happen," he promised gravely. "Come along, and we'll see what can be done."

It was only once they were seated in their usual places and two cups had been poured that the butler really examined the toy. "…Hmm. This shouldn't be a difficult repair at all, young sir. It's a simple split seam. Do you still have her tail, by any chance? Excellent," he nodded when a multi-colored cord, tied off and frayed at one end to simulate hair, was handed over. "I'll have her back on her feet just as quickly as I can," he promised.

"I don't mind doing it," Dick offered. "I mean…well, I broke her, and I know you're really busy…" He ducked his head. "Bruce said there's like a king or something coming to his party this year?"

"I believe that spot on the guest list is going to be filled with two or three of his sons, instead," Alfred sipped, "but you are correct that this is a rather important affair we have coming up."

"So…I'm not going to see him that whole day, am I?" he sighed. "Because he'll be getting ready and stuff?"

"Oh, I don't know about that, Master Dick. There was a rumor afoot that you would be present for at least part of the event, so I imagine you'll get a few moments with him, at least."

He was torn at that. _I want to spend time with Bruce, and I want to do things that help his reputation, but…_ he wrinkled his nose slightly, _why does that always seem to mean that I have to go to boring old parties?_ "…Okay," he agreed reluctantly.

_You sound nearly as reticent as he always does,_ the Englishman chuckled to himself. _It's rather adorable._ "Not to worry," he soothed. "This won't be nearly as stodgy of an event as the last one you attended. The benefit of having it out on the lawn is that most of the attendees are a bit more relaxed than usual."

"That's not so bad then, I guess," he allowed, then stared at the tear in the elephant's rear end. "…I don't even know _how_ to sew, Alfred!" he confessed suddenly. "I just wanted to make her better!"

…_That was an oddly timed outburst, young sir, but then I suppose it wouldn't be out of character for you to still be feeling guilty for 'hurting' your favorite toy and then getting caught sneaking into my rooms. _"Oh? Well, that's all right. I can teach you, if you like," he offered calmly, hoping to soothe him indirectly. "It's quite simple, and you've nimble fingers and a sharp mind, so it should come easily for you."

"Could…is there time today? I'm afraid to hug her too hard because more fluffing come out," he almost whined.

"I can't show you how today," the butler said regretfully. "But if you leave Miss Elinor with me, I will be happy to make the repair for you, and then show you how to do so yourself the next time there is something that needs sewn. What do you think?"

"But…but I'm the one who hurt her," he whispered.

"…Yes, although I've no doubt whatsoever that you didn't do so purposefully. Now you're acting exactly as you ought to, by taking her to someone with more skill in fixing her than you yourself have. This is just like when I call Dr. Thompkins out to see you and Master Wayne after a nasty patrol. There's no harm or shirking of duty in doing such things, just responsibility and care. Does that help?"

Dick considered what had been said for a long moment. "…Yes," he nodded finally. "It does. You're like her doctor; I can deal with that." He played with the toy's long trunk for a minute, then passed it over. "Alfred's going to fix you, Ellie," he said. "So be good, even when he pokes you in the butt with a needle."

"I'm sure we'll get along famously," the man bit back a grin as he picked up the animal and her detached tail, pocketing one and rising to set the other on the counter until he had a spare moment. _You are virtually the only thing he was allowed to bring with him from the circus,_ he mused. _I'll do whatever I possibly can to ensure that you last. He needs you, I think, in order to stay tied to his past; he must not lose that link._ _ If fitting a bit of elephant repair into my day is all that is required to maintain that bridge for him, then I am more than willing to make the time._

Dick left the butler and the plaything in the kitchen together at the conclusion of their tea, retreating to the yard to play. Not having forgotten his earlier fear of kidnapping and wanting to keep an eye on him as a result, the Englishman requested that his charge try and stay in the area visible from the kitchen window. "…Do you know, old girl," he patted Elinor's worn exterior when he glanced up some time later to see the child frolicking in a beam of rare Gotham sunlight, "some may look down on us as mere creatures of service, but I rather think that we're the lucky ones. We get to see them at their best…and at their worst. That's worth something, it seems to me."

Alfred saw very little of Dick for the rest of the day. Not until the youth's bedtime did he again exchange more than a few words with him, and then, thanks to a few spare moments that he'd managed to snatch away from his cooking and organizing of vendors, he was able to bring him happy news. "…You won't want to slip off into dreamland without a certain companion, I'm sure," he passed into the boy's bedroom just after Bruce had departed for the cave. "And I have her right here, as good as new," he pulled the elephant from behind his back.

"Elinor!" the already bundled-in child yelped delightedly, shoving his arms up over the covers. "You fixed her!"

"I did indeed, young sir. She was a very good patient," he said gravely, passing the object back to its owner. "I'm very glad that you allowed me to look her over; I found a few other weak spots in her seams that I took the liberty of tightening up. You shouldn't have any more sudden rips in the near future."

Clutching the restored creature and listening with wide eyes, Dick kicked the covers off and stood up on the mattress. Before the Englishman could inquire as to what he thought he was doing, the boy was clinging to him, arms around his neck in a tight hug. "…Thank you, Alfred. Thank you for making Elinor all better. I'd be sad if something happened to her."

"Well, we certainly don't want that," he breathed back, returning the embrace. _I'm supremely glad I pushed off starting the hors d'oeuvres until tonight,_ he sighed to himself. _I may not get much rest as a result, but this moment more than makes up for it._ "Now go to bed, Master Dick, and sleep tight," he released him after a long moment. "I will see both you and Miss Elinor in the morning."

"Okay," he nodded, obeying. "…Alfred?" he asked, making the butler look back.

"…Hmm?"

"You're the best."

A warm glow flooded the man's veins at those three simple, heartfelt words. "I daresay that you would know, my boy," he winked, "being one of the best yourself. Now go to sleep."

…_I can do that, now that I have Elinor back,_ Dick thought contentedly as both the door and his eyelids closed for the night. _I can do that, thanks to you._


	12. Like Father, Like Son

**Author's Note: This piece is a sequel to the previous chapter, 'The Elephant Tail Travail.' AJCrane requested something with Dick coming across Elinor again years later and showing her to Alfred, and my muse went to town. So, thanks to AJCrane for setting that plotbunny running, and happy reading!**

* * *

"One moment," Alfred called as he made his way carefully across the foyer to the front door. _No use rushing,_ he counseled himself. _It won't do anyone a bit of good if I fall and break a hip or something else equally geriatric. Damned age, anyway…_

The cons of being nearly three-quarters of a century old fled from the front of his mind when he opened the entrance to reveal two of his very favorite people. "Master Dick!" he exclaimed, not bothering to hide his pleasure at seeing the younger man. "And I see you've brought dear Master John, as well," his smile broadened as the two-year-old's face swiveled towards him.

"Owfred!" the child squealed, immediately wriggling and reaching out towards the butler.

"Gee, I see I'm chopped liver when you're around," Dick joked, setting his son and a heavy diaper bag down inside. "…Hurry up and turn three so you can go back to loving me, would you, Johnny?"

Ignoring him entirely, the boy scampered over and wrapped his arms around the Englishman's knee. "Owfred," he repeated as he stared upwards, his request to be held shining in the bright blue eyes he'd inherited from his father. "Up!"

"What do you say, young sir?" Alfred, focused as always on grooming the next generation of gentlemen, arched an eyebrow expectantly.

"…Please up?"

"Oh, I imagine that's close enough to the proper order," he gave in, lifting the child with a slight wince as his back twinged. "And you as well," he gestured to Dick with his free hand. "It's been six weeks, at least."

"Sorry. It's been crazy," he explained as he stepped into a tight hug. "I'm sure Bruce told you about at least some of the off-world shenanigans the JLA's been dealing with. Throw in an underage prostitution club bust here in town that netted a couple religious leaders as well as our _illustrious_ Senator Wrenshaw," he rolled his eyes, "and you'll see why getting across town's been kind of difficult since New Years."

"Well, you're here now. Let me take your coat," he released him finally. "…You _are_ staying a while, aren't you?"

"Of course. If you want to get Johnny out of his jacket, I'll hang them up. Saves you the walking. Speaking of, sorry about the doorbell; my hands were full, and I thought it would be a better surprise this way."

"Not at all, Master Dick. I wasn't doing anything I can't return to later, just polishing the silver. As riveting as that particular chore is," he spoke now to the boy whose jacket he was expertly stripping off, "I much prefer answering the door to find delightful visitors such as yourselves." He poked the toddler gently in the tummy, drawing an adoring giggle, before he returned his gaze to the elder Grayson. "You came straight from work, I see?" he inquired as police captain's bars glimmered in the light of the chandelier.

"I didn't want us to be late for tea," Dick grinned, rolling up the sleeves of his uniform shirt.

"It _is_ about that time, isn't it? Very good," the butler said, pleased. "…Would you like a cookie, Master John?" he bounced the little one in his arms.

"Chip cookie!"

"A chocolate chip cookie? I believe I can scrounge one of those up for you." _As if I'd ever allow this house to be devoid of them,_ he chuckled to himself as they moved into the kitchen. "Go on with the pair of you," he passed the child back reluctantly at the door, "and I'll get the tea."

"I don't mind-"

"Hush, young sir," Alfred waved him off good-naturedly. "We go through this every time you come to see me, and it never changes. So long as I'm capable, I'll not have you serving yourself in this house. That is my job, as it always has been. Although I do appreciate the offer," he added graciously, "every time it is made."

"…You know, at this rate I'm _never_ going to be able to pay you back for the eight billion or so cups you've brought me over the years," the younger man commented once he was seated and busy jostling what an unknowing observer could be forgiven for thinking was a miniature clone of himself on his knee.

"Ah, well…allow me to serve you eight billions or so cups more, Master Dick, and I'll consider it even." They exchanged a warm glance, then went about their respective work in silence for several minutes, the butler preparing a light repast while the former Boy Wonder set his child down on the floor and pulled several toys out of his supply tote. "…You might have just fetched down some of the myriad objects we keep upstairs for him, you know," the Englishman commented as he approached with a loaded tray in his hands.

"Sure, but the problem with that room is that it's practically impossible to get the kid _out_ of it once you let him in," Dick replied. Each of the former Robins still had their reserved spaces in the upper hall, regardless of when they'd last been occupied, and when John – thus far the only progeny of the four – had come along Bruce had immediately ordered that he be given his own area in the manor, too. The newborn's furniture hadn't even been in place before the billionaire had begun filling the shelves and corners with playthings and soft stuffed animals, ordering double of everything and sending the copies along to Dick and Barbara's apartment until his son had begged him to stop. "It's bad enough at home…did you know that Bruce had a huge box of stuff delivered last month, then told me it was gifts for _Presidents' Day_? I about hung up on him. Who buys gifts for Presidents' Day? Babs was _ticked," _he winced."Don't get me wrong, we love all the attention he gives him, but we don't have room for all of that. Especially with the new one on the way, now."

Alfred's hands twitched at the last sentence, splattering a bit of pale liquid onto the saucer. "I beg pardon?" he asked for a repeat, expression verging on excitement as he set down the pot.

"Shi…crap," he glanced down at John, who was playing contentedly nearby with a pile of blocks. "Good, he didn't hear. Anyway…look, we haven't told anyone yet, not even Bruce, so don't say _anything_, but…we're having another baby."

"That's _marvelous_, Master Dick!" The same uncharacteristically broad grin that had stretched across his lips when he'd heard news of their first pregnancy appeared again. "When is it due?"

"July."

"Ah…" He handed over a cup of a delicate green blend, indicated a plate of fresh madeleines, and leaned back in his chair with a satisfied look. "A summer baby. I suppose it's too early to know if Master John will be getting a brother or a sister?"

"Yeah. Babs wants a girl. I don't mind either way," he shrugged. "We're going to have to move someplace bigger. Three bedrooms seemed like a lot of space when we didn't have kids, but with the shopping sprees Bruce goes on now, let alone what he'll do when he's got _two_ to splurge on…" he trailed off. "Tim's been trying to get me to buy the house up the road. It's not like he's using it, after all, and honestly…well, Babs and I have been talking, and I think we're going to do it. It's ten minutes away from here, it's big enough inside and out that we could have _eight_ kids and not run out of space – not that we're ever having that many, two or three is plenty in my book – and when I broached the topic of building an apartment over the garage Tim seemed…interested. He's been staying with us most weekends," he disclosed, stirring his tea. "And working late on weeknights, I guess. They're trying marital counseling, but…it just isn't doing any good, he says."

"I hate to see any marriage fail," Alfred sighed at the less-than-great news about the third Robin. "And especially Master Tim's, but…perhaps it's better this way, in the long run. I, for one, am just glad that he sees fit to turn to you with his problems. Heaven knows he doesn't speak to anyone else about them." They went still for a moment, each thinking his own thoughts. "…It would be good, I think, were he to live with you and Miss Barbara for a while. Separate to an extent, of course, but…near. He's always looked up to you, and you'll need an extra pair of hands around when the new little one arrives. Although," a soft smile graced his lips, "if you _do_ take his father's old residence, you'll certainly have plenty of help close by."

"…I think he's afraid of losing it in a divorce," Dick disclosed. "He told me once a long time ago that he'd never sell that place, even if no one was living in it. It caught me off guard when he brought it up, but…anyway."

"Daddy!" A demanding voice grabbed the attention of both men.

"What's up, Johnny-boy?" Dick smiled down at his son.

"…Cookie?"

"You want your cookie now, huh? Well, you know the rule; you have to sit up here to eat it, right? So who are you sitting with?"

"Cookie!" the toddler cheered, clambering over to Alfred. "Please up?"

"You're going to spoil me with all of this attention, Master John," the butler opined as he lifted the child onto his leg. Breaking up the dessert into pieces that would be more manageable for little fingers, he placed it on a plate in front of the eager boy. "There. It's all yours." They watched him eat for a second, both envying the intense concentration that his young, undistracted mind was able to devote to enjoying the sweet. "…Have you had any word about Master Damian, by chance?"

"Still hunting his mother, the last we knew. I wish he'd give that up. Even if he manages to corner her, she'll never tell him the truth." The youngest Robin's decision to confront Talia al-Ghul with the questions he'd carried in his heart for a decade had been strenuously disapproved of by Bruce, who had ended the discussion by storming off to his study and refusing to speak about it again. Damian had gone on his search in the end with only Dick's cautious, concerned blessing, and little had been heard from him in the eighteen months since his departure. "I know why he has to at least try, Alfred, I can't imagine what it must be like to feel that your mother never saw you as anything but a tool, but…it scares me. Every night, it scares me. Part of me wants him to find her because I know that the _adult_ him needs to see her for the snake that she is, but the rest of me knows what she'll do to him if he gets close and makes even the tiniest misstep. I should have insisted on going with him," he lamented, shaking his head and drawing his eyebrows downward in self-blame.

"You had other duties, Master Dick," Alfred said firmly, leaning over to grasp his wrist and nodding towards the toddler who was making quick work of his treat. "Even if that had not been the case…I think the pair of you going after her would have outright killed Master Wayne. The same fears plague him as do you, you know, even if he doesn't show them."

"I know," he sighed. "But that just makes it worse. I mean…Johnny was barely one when he left, and now there's going to be the new baby, and everything with Tim that's going on, and…so much will have changed by the time he comes back. If…if he comes back," he shivered slightly.

"…Yes, I know," the butler grimaced along with him.

"All done!"

"…My goodness, you polished that right off, didn't you?" the Englishman pasted false shock over his gratitude for the distraction. "Here, take your napkin and wipe your hands and face," he instructed. "…You've gotten better at cleaning up," came a few moments later as he reclaimed the linen and swiped at the spots that the boy had missed on his own.

"Daddy, no-no!"

"…You want her now? Okay, but you can't have her at the table. You have to be down here with your toys." When the child had slithered back to the floor, Dick reached into the diaper bag. "…You'll appreciate this," he smirked across the table. "One second, J.B., let's show Alfred what you've got, okay?" With that, he plunked a much-loved elephant plushie down beside his teacup. "Look familiar?"

The butler froze, blinking at the old toy. "Miss Elinor," he whispered fondly, reaching out to pat her on the head. "I wondered how she was faring now that she has a new friend to play with."

"Owfred?"

"…Hmm?" He turned to find the two-year-old looking perplexedly between him and the stuffed creature. "My sincerest apologies, Master John," he smiled, then handed the him the object he so clearly desired. "I won't keep her from you any longer. Thank you," he directed at Dick. "You were so attached to her, you know, that there were moments when I almost felt that she was a fourth inhabitant of this house. It's lovely to see her still with you."

"If you think _I_ was bad, wait until I try to put her back in the bag when it's time to go. You'll love this," he shifted, leaning forward as he launched into a tale. "Babs had her annual librarian convention thing down in Florida a couple weeks ago, right, and Johnny and I went with her this time since it was just a long weekend. Well, I was looking for things to take him to do while she was in her seminars, and found out that there was a pretty decently reviewed zoo nearby. He'd never been to one before and she didn't want to miss it, so we took him together." He grinned. "We stood in front of the elephant paddock for, oh, an hour or so. He would _not_ leave; he cried every time we tried to keep moving. I was perfectly happy with that, but Babs looked bored out of her skull after the first ten minutes."

Alfred chuckled. "I wonder where the younger sir could possibly have gotten that particular obsession from?"

"I know, right? Heh," he snorted. "No _wonder_ she wants a girl this time. Anyway, when we got home I went down to storage and dug through just about every box in the place until I found Elinor. He's slept with her ever since. And what's great – actually, hold on. Johnny," he called his son's name. "Tell Alfred what you saw at the zoo when we were in Florida. Remember, our trip with mommy? What did we go see together?"

The pointed little face pinched for a moment in thought, then burst into a grin as he held up the creature who had been tucked against his side. "No-no!" he announced.

"He can't say 'Elinor' yet, so he calls her 'no-no,'" Dick explained. "Apparently somewhere along the line he decided that _all_ elephants are called that. He about made me deaf, the way he screamed about 'no-nos' when some nature program about the savanna came on TV the other day. I'm probably lucky the neighbors didn't think he was trying to get me to stop doing something bad to him call the cops on me. Because that's what I need on top of everything else, is CPS back in my life."

"No-no!" the younger Grayson exclaimed, grabbing the animal in question by her trunk and tail and beginning to walk her in a semi-circle. "No-no, no-no, no-n-" Suddenly the bright, frayed rope marking Elinor's back end separated from her body, laying limp in his hand as the boy stared in shock and horror. "No-noooo!" he wailed, bursting into tears.

Both adults were beside him in an instant, their tea completely forgotten. "It's okay," Dick soothed, pulling his offspring close as the butler gently took the toy's two halves from small, clutching hands. "Don't cry, _mo shávo_, it's okay..." He rocked him as he crooned, the memory of when it had been _his_ fingers the elephant's tail had come off in flooding back. "You didn't break her, it's all right, Johnny-boy…"

"I suppose twenty and some years is a rather impressive lifespan for the stitches I put in the last time," Alfred observed quietly. "It's all right," he, too, tried to calm the child. "You've only popped the seam, just as someone else in this very room once did."

"You hear that, Johnny? Alfred can fix it, can't you, Alfred?"

"Oh, my, yes. It won't take me long at all, and we'll have Miss Elinor right as rain again," he promised, patting the sobbing toddler's knee before rising creakily from where he'd knelt on the floor. "If you'll excuse me for just a moment, sirs, I'll go and fetch my sewing things, and we'll get her right into surgery."

"Do you want me to-?"

"No, Master Dick, you just attend to Master John. I shan't be long."

Both of the younger males had re-seated themselves at the table when he returned, the boy with fat tears still running down his cheeks occasionally despite the half-eaten madeleine he held in one hand. "Here we go," his father said cheerfully as the Englishman removed the tea tray and then sat, pulling the injured elephant close. "You watch, Alfred's going to make Elinor all better."

"All better?" was sniffled back.

"All better," he confirmed. "Watch! You don't want to miss it, especially since I'll be a grandfather myself before this happens again, with the way he sews."

"…There we are," the butler nodded with satisfaction a short time later. He made a final knot, clipped the thread, and then presented the repaired creature to her owners. "Sewn up tight and ready for another twenty years of service, I daresay."

"Look," Dick spun her around to point out the nearly invisible stitches securing the tail where it belonged. "I told you he'd fix her right up."

"…Scar," John said, tracing the faint indents in the fabric with one finger. Frowning slightly, his hand moved down to the network of lines, some old, many new, that marked the strong arms wrapped around his waist. "…Scar," he repeated.

"Yeah, J.B.," the man nodded. "They kind of look the same, huh?"

"…Owfred fix you?" he craned his neck to meet the gaze that matched his own.

"You bet he did. Just like he did Elinor."

The boy stared at him for another moment, then rested his head against his father's chest. After a second of that he dropped lightly to the floor and padded over to Alfred, who had watched the entire exchange a bit sadly from his side of the table. "Owfred?"

"Yes, young sir?"

His mouth worked as if he was trying to figure out how to say something important. Finally he held his arms skyward. "Please up?" When he'd been obliged and was kneeling on the butler's legs, he gave him a serious look. "You fix no-no," he observed, cocking his head to one side. "…You fix daddy?"

"…Yes, Master John. Many times," he swallowed hard. _Far, far too many times._

"Oh." He leaned forward then, plastering himself over the Englishman in a hug. "…Thank you."

Before either adult had a chance to recover from what had just occurred, the child had pulled away and returned to the blocks he'd abandoned earlier, stacking them carefully one on top of the other and seemingly unconcerned by the flurry of emotions he'd stirred up. "…Well," Dick said finally, his voice thick. "That was, uh, unexpected." _…Has he said 'thank you' before now?_ he wondered a bit wildly. _I know Babs has been working on it with him, but I don't think he'd actually used it right yet. She's going to be tickled pink…if I tell her,_ he added. _I almost feel like maybe this is something that belongs to just Alfred and I..._

"Oh, I don't know," the older man replied slowly, his eyes never leaving the tousled head that was bent intently over its building project. "We really ought to have been expecting such brilliant little insights to begin falling out of his mouth sooner or later."

"…Huh?"

_You did the same thing all the time, my boy_. _That same unusual precociousness that Master John just exhibited was one of the very first things that caught my attention when you arrived here._ _I've not forgotten,_ he thought fiercely, _despite my years_. _Those initial meetings between us, I think, are memories that I will carry to the end of my days. I hope they are, at least. But what just occurred shall rank right up there with them. He is so very much as you must have been at his age, long before I knew you, and I wish I could have-…well. Wishing for the impossible never did anyone any good, now did it? _"It's as they say, Master Dick," he answered with a secret smile after several beats had passed. "…Like father, like son."

* * *

**Author's Note: From what I understand, _mo shávo _is Romany for 'my son.' **


	13. More Than the Sum of Its Parts

**Author's Note: So this chapter started out as a suggestion by Yellow Cape to have Alfred use his teas for something other than imbibing. I actually had planned to write it in a completely different setting, but then I came across a blurb about green tea poultices having been found to be highly effective in treating skin irritations caused by cancer-related radiation therapies. I may still write the other chapter, since it was going to feature a much younger Dick and a totally different plot, but here's a bit of fun in the meantime. Happy reading!**

* * *

The first thing Alfred noticed about the faint smile that greeted him when he stepped into the bedroom opposite the master suite was that in spite of everything it still managed to reach the giver's exhausted, sunken eyes. "I thought you might have awakened, Master Dick," he commented. Setting a tray down on the desk, he moved to the bed and leaned over his dreadfully ill charge. "How are you feeling this afternoon?" _What a stupid question that is,_ he hid his self-flagellating grimace. _You feel miserable, naturally. Leukemia will do that to a person, and in the case of someone as used to being active and healthy as you are the dismay of being more or less trapped in bed must be abysmal. And yet you give me that same little smirk each time I ask, _he marveled. _You know I hate the damnable sense of propriety that drives me to inquire over and over again despite the fact that your answer must always be a lie, and so you grin, teasing me. My poor, suffering scamp of a boy…_

"Golden," Dick replied drily. "Supervillains aren't going to know _what_ to do when I get back out on the streets and they find out that Nightwing eats radiation for lunch now. I figure that's worth, what, a five, ten percent boost in my street cred?"

"…At least, young sir," the butler agreed. _Nightwing, back on patrol,_ he sighed silently. _The list of things I would not happily give to see that is so short as to be nearly non-existent. _"Are you feeling any less nauseous now than you were when you returned from your treatment?" While the daily doses of external beam radiation therapy that the younger man had been undergoing for almost two weeks _did_ seem to be helping, they left him unable to eat for hours afterwards. That made it difficult for even Alfred's most nutritious meals to combat the weight loss that had been the first warning sign of trouble only a few short months earlier, and it seemed to the Englishman that his patient grew more skeletal by the hour.

"Sure."

The single word was too easily said. _Another lie, but I can't bear to chastise him for it. After all, he's only telling them to make this entire ordeal easier on the rest of us. How very typical of him, striving to soothe those of us who are well while he himself withers away. I wish you would be greedy while you fight this foe, child; it would make my guilt so much less intense, I think._ "Well, that's looking up, then, isn't it? And good timing, too, since I brought our tea."

"…Is it three-thirty?" Dick looked a bit dazed by that. "…Jeez, I slept longer than I thought."

"No harm done," the butler patted a narrow arm gently. A hiss sounded, and he pulled back with a contrite intake of air. "I'm so sorry," he breathed in a rush. "I didn't realize you were that sore today."

"It's okay," the sick man ground out, relaxing slowly as the pain ebbed back to merely monstrous. "That spot they've been targeting is just being cranky, that's all. Feels like the worst sunburn ever."

"On that note, I've prepared something that may help." Crossing back to the platter he'd carried up, he removed the lid and returned with a small bowl and a wide, clean piece of linen. "I was doing a bit of reading last night," he explained, perching on the edge of the mattress and carefully pulling the aggravated limb closer. "Apparently some patients undergoing similar types of treatment to what you've been enduring found relief from their skin ailments with green tea poultices. Would you care to try it?"

"…Green tea poultices? Huh. Well, what the hey, tea fixes everything else; we might as well slop some on there. It's not like it's going to make it hurt any _worse_, so…"

Trying not to wince at that, Alfred placed a liberal cushion of wet leaves over the patch of flesh just below his charge's elbow where a heavy beam of radiation had been penetrating every twenty-four hours. When he could pile on no more without risking it all sliding onto the sheets, he wrapped the cloth around the damaged joint and secured it with a pair of safety pins. "There, now. We'll let that sit for a while and see if it does any good. Are the other locations they've been focusing on suffering the same side effect?" _Judging from the way you're laying, I have to assume not,_ Alfred deduced. _I rather doubt you would want any weight near your liver were that area reacting badly as well._

"No. Well…yes, but those are nothing compared to my stupid arm." He sighed heavily. "I should probably just be glad that my hair hasn't started going, but…been feeling pretty fricking useless of late, Alfred."

"Nonsense. Your presence in this house has done a great deal of good, and you know it," the Englishman insisted. _Master Damian and Master Wayne seem to have found a project to bond over in searching for a cure for you,_ he reviewed silently. _That in and of itself is a miracle; I still tremble to think of what the fights between the two of them would have been like had Master Damian grown much further into his teen years without forming some sort of connection with his father. Master Tim is home more than ever, and while it is worrisome that he's taken so many of the nightly patrols onto his own shoulders to free Master Wayne for research I get the sense that he's rather enjoying being Gotham's primary caretaker while Batman is otherwise occupied. As for Master Jason…well, the fact that he's come by to visit at all speaks volumes. For goodness sake, he nearly made it through an entire dinner last week before he said anything off-putting…_

As if he'd read his thoughts, Dick broached a question. "…Bruce is back downstairs, huh?"

"Yes. He sat with you until you fell asleep, do you recall?"

"Yeah, I remember. My memory's practically the only part of me that still works right," he joked sarcastically. A low vibration rattled through the nightstand, drawing their attention. "Would you check that? It's probably just a note from Wally or Uncle Clark, but I hate to leave them hanging." He'd spent twelve hours lying absolutely still the weekend before, trying to ride out a particularly nasty bout of agony, and had gathered afterwards that his failure to reply to texts had caused both of the other heroes a fair amount of distress and worry. Since then he had been careful to keep his response time short, even secretly instructing both Damian and Tim to write back for him if they found him asleep or otherwise unable to address an unanswered message.

Alfred, blissfully unaware of the lengths his charge had gone to in order to keep those who didn't have the ability to be at his side around the clock from assuming the worst, retrieved the device and spent a moment getting to the proper screen. "Ah. Mister West wishes to inform you that he'll be visiting this weekend. He says he's managed to get four days off, and that if he hasn't annoyed you back to health by the end of that period he's calling in an airstrike."

"Heh. Dork," Dick said warmly. "…Is that okay?"

"…I beg pardon, young sir?"

"That he stays for the weekend. Is that okay? I know you've already got a ridiculous amount of stuff going on, mostly because of me. I don't want to add to that if you-"

"Oh, Master Dick, don't be absurd," the butler waved off. "I'll simply double all of my recipes and keep my fingers crossed that that is sufficient sustenance." _He'll no doubt insist on sleeping in here, so there won't even be a room to be made up. I'll have to fetch the roll-away down from the attic to keep him off of the floor, but that won't take more than a moment._

"So your usual 'Wally's coming to town' tactic?"

"Precisely."

"Let him know that's awesome, would you?"

"Of course." Several moments passed as the sentiment was tapped out and sent on its way. "…I imagine Mister Kent will be stopping by as usual after the JLA meeting on Saturday. Would you like me to ask him?"

"Sure. Actually," he added, "ask him if he'll spend the night, too. That would be cool, especially since between you, Uncle Clark, and I we could probably even get Bruce to come upstairs for air."

"…Would you like something special for that evening?" Alfred queried as soon as he'd fired off a second message. _Mister Kent won't refuse such a request, I'm absolutely certain. While I rather doubt that you'll have the energy for much of a party, if you want one I will gladly prepare it._

"Um…" Dick was quiet for a moment, measuring his strength and calculating the number of days until the proposed get-together. "Maybe a movie? I know that sounds kind of lame for a Saturday night, and I'll have to ask Tim to start patrol late, but…yeah. A movie sounds good." _I think I could probably make it through something like that. If I get settled on the couch before everyone comes I won't have to move much, and if I fall asleep there it isn't a big deal._

"Is there a particular title you'd like me to procure?" _A movie night with friends and family at your behest…it will be nice to have things seem almost normal again, even if it only lasts a few hours._

"Something funny. I don't care what, beyond that."

"Very good, young sir."

"…How awful do you think it would be if I ate popcorn that night? Is that one of the things I'm supposed to avoid? I don't even know."

"As a matter of fact, I believe that popcorn – the way we eat it in this house, at least, not that chemical-drenched stuff one buys at the grocery – is on the list of things you _should_ be eating. I've simply been avoiding serving it to you in favor of more nutrient-dense foods."

"Sweet. Popcorn and a movie sound amazing." He paused. "…Wait. Did I just say food sounded amazing?"

Alfred felt a pleased smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I believe you did, Master Dick."

"I don't remember the last time food sounded legitimately _amazing_. I think I may actually be salivating at the thought of popcorn."

"If you're craving it that strongly, I'd be happy to prepare you a batch." _Anything. Just eat something, please._

"…Nah, I'll save the popcorn for Saturday. But…you said you brought tea, right?"

"I did indeed, and chicken broth as well."

"Do we have any oyster crackers?"

"I brought those as well, yes." _Tell me you'd like them,_ the butler felt his throat tighten slightly. _Even if you don't manage much, at least get something in your system today. You barely even looked at breakfast…_

"…Could I have some?"

"Of course," Alfred leapt to his feet and came back with a bed tray and another bowl immediately. "Do you need help sitting up, or-"

"Nah, Bruce had this thing installed, remember?" Dick reminded, pulling out a small remote that had been secreted amongst the covers. Pushing the top button caused the head of the bed to lift him into an upright position, from which he gave another sigh. "There. Now I can survey my kingdom," he jested, waving his hand vaguely around the room.

"You can at that, young sir," the butler nodded as he put everything down. "Here is your spoon. Or would a straw be easier for you, to minimize your movement?" _I don't care how utterly impolite eating broth with a straw would be under normal circumstances. So long as it gets into your stomach and stays there long enough to be processed, the method of delivery is inconsequential._

"Hard to eat oyster crackers with a straw."

"An excellent point, Master Dick. Would you like to try a cup of tea as well?"

"Yes," the younger man answered almost before the question was finished being asked. Tea was the one thing other than water that he'd been able to take in during even his worst bouts of nausea, and he'd come to rely on it as a steadying agent over the past three months. "…Is it green, to go along with my poultice?" he asked amusedly.

"It is. I strained the leaves out when our tea was ready, then continued boiling them in fresh water for the remainder of the time recommended by the recipe I found. Your tea," he added a gently steaming cup to the tray, cradling one of his own in his other hand as he resumed his seat beside Dick's knees. "Speaking of, does it seem to have helped at all? The poultice?" A sip of broth disappeared into his charge's gullet as he ventured that question, and he nearly cheered.

"Actually…yeah. It burns a _lot_ less now." He paused. "I freaking _love_ tea."

"It does have its myriad uses," Alfred concurred, now tickled pink. _It worked. How wonderful…if you think __you've__ been feeling useless, dear boy, you've no idea how pointless my work has seemed these past weeks. _His most scrumptious food couldn't overcome his charge's upset stomach, and when it did manage the feat it wasn't enough to do more than fight a holding action against malnutrition. No matter what lengths he went to to make the bed more comfortable or the daily drive to the hospital less agonizing, he could still see the pain etched in his patient's face. On top of that, the time he had to dedicate to his usual chores had lessened to the point where he'd come across a dust bunny under one of the couches the other day, a shameful discovery that still made him cringe when he thought of it. He knew that Dick appreciated everything he was doing and that the rest of the family would never begrudge a bit of extra dirt about the house in exchange for having the eldest Robin back on his feet, but he still felt as if his efforts were having no real effect whatsoever. Now, watching him eat and aware that the topical treatment had been a success, the Englishman sipped his own beverage and felt the weight of Sisyphean drudgery lift from his shoulders.

Nearly the entirety of the broth disappeared before Dick slumped back with a happy little moan. "…And I don't even feel sick," he smiled slightly, his eyelids drooping. "I'm not going to hold my breath on that lasting long, but for now, I'll take it."

"Perhaps the nausea won't come," Alfred advised hopefully. "If you go to sleep you may be able to escape it. Although I must insist that you move onto your side, just in case you _are_ sick unexpectedly."

"Mmkay…"

"…Master Dick?" No answer came, and as he realized what had happened the butler chuckled softly. "Like an infant," he shook his head. "He filled his stomach, and now it's naptime. Well, I won't argue." Clearing away the tray, he lowered the bed and tenderly rolled the younger man onto one side. Just before he pulled the blankets up to his chin, he expertly undid the poultice, catching the leaves in the cloth before any could fall to be crushed amongst the linens. Finally he slid the two-way radio that gave Dick a direct line of communication with him anywhere in the house a bit closer, leaving a note beneath it that there was plenty more tea if he needed another round for his arm or elsewhere.

Only when there was nothing more he could do to ensure his charge's relative comfort did he slip back to the door, tray once more in hand, to let him rest. _Well, _he hesitated for a moment in the hallway, hand still resting on the knob, _I'll have to order more green and have it shipped overnight. Heaven forbid we run out when he has some four weeks of this particular treatment left. Still…it __does__ seem to be helping, and if the poultices ease the painful side effects even a little it will make things so much easier on him. _A satisfied _hmph_ escaped his lips. _Perhaps I ought to put a bug in Master Wayne's ear about the good that green tea did this afternoon. I don't know that it will help him in his research any – everything I read said that the positive effects were found only when the leaves were __not__ broken down into their constituent chemicals, which is what he would be bound to do first thing – but frankly I'm willing to try anything. We all are. _He pulled away slowly and headed back towards the kitchen, his step a fair bit lighter than it had been for some time. _Sleep well, Master Dick. If you appear to be on the mend on Saturday night, I daresay it will cause us all a fair amount of jubilation. But either way,_ he added, _I'll have plenty of tea on hand for you._


End file.
